The Devil's Playthings
by Russell Gorey
Summary: Whereupon the author screws around for a year, loses the plot and most of his readership, has an unwarranted ego trip, and probably misuses the word 'whereupon'. Look away, I beg you. Now finished, but pending MASSIVE REWRITES.
1. Prologue: Love Shack, Baby

Dumbledore pushed open the door of the rundown shack. He staggered as the wards pulsed in an attempt to repel him. Mustering his strength, he let his magic flow, overpowering the old runes protecting the dastardly treasure inside.

Crossing through the old room, he looked down at the old kitchen table, upon which lay a small locked box. Could it really be so simple? Was Tom so arrogant? The box was un-warded, curse-free, its treasure unguarded. Muttering a quick Alohomora and smiling to himself, the Greatest Wizard of Our Age reached down lifted the lid.

His smile fell almost immediately. The sole item in the box was a scrap of paper. Picking it up in his shaking hands, he unfolded it and read the neat handwriting:

 _Sup Albus,  
Came by a while ago, grabbed your little ring. Took a hell of a beating from all those curses. Fortunately, immortal demon and all that shit, so no harm no foul. If you want the ring, how about you give me a call, and we'll trade favors.  
See you in August, sweet-cheeks,  
Vassago._

In spite of his disappointment and anger, Albus smiled, crumpling the paper in his hand. "The crafty devil."

 **PART 2, MOTHERFUCKAS!**


	2. Pure Nightmare Fuel

**Obligatory disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, I'd be rolling in royalty payments. My apologies to J. K. Rowling.**

Harry sat on the living room sofa at Number 4 Privet Drive. Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley Dursley were watching the clock above the mantel, their expressions of anxiety. Harry smiled as his watched his uncle's right eye twitch in sync with the tick of the second hand.

His uncle and aunt had avoided him all summer like he was infected with leprosy, giving him pocket money to take the bus into London to visit Sirius. His godfather had been unable to get custody of the teen wizard: apparently being sent to Hell and back made him a bit of a pariah in the Wizarding World. For the first time in a while, he was feeling good. Things were looking up Milhouse for good ole Harry Potter.

*Cough* **foreshadowing** *cough*

 _ **Sorry, I had something in my throat. Don't know why it appeared on print, but hey, that's the magic of the written word.**_

Now, he was awaiting the appearance of the Order of the Phoenix to escort him and his belongings to the Weasley residence. Who would come? Mad-Eye? Tonks and Remus. Apparently they were having a bit of a romance. They were trying to be low-key about it, so of course Harry and everyone else knew all of the details. Harry smirked. Maybe even Dumbledore would show up. Wouldn't that be something special?

The minute hand struck eight o'clock exactly. At that, there was a sharp rap on the front door. Four sets of eyes swiveled at once. Harry shot up. "I'll get it!" Running to the door, he threw it open, the grin on his face fading as he took in the visitor on the doorstep.

"Hiya, Harry, how was your summer vacation?" The man at the door was tall and thin as a cadaver, with piercing yellow eyes and sharp teeth. He was dressed in an expensive-looking suit, and taking drags on a cigarette. At the curb behind him, a black American muscle-car was idling loudly, causing several neighbors to peer peevishly from behind their curtains.

"Vassago," Harry said flatly.

The demon's grin widened. "Aren't you going to give us a hug."

Harry stepped back, allowing his demonic minion to enter. "Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia," he said, turning to his relatives, who were standing nervously behind him. "This is Vassago."

"Howdy," Vassago said, strolling in and pumping the walrus-faced man's hand quickly. "Harry's told me a lot about you. Good thing I don't hold grudges, or I'd beat you to death right here in your parlor." Noticing the pale look on Mr. Dursley's face, Vassago laughed. "Just kidding, Verne." He leaned in and lowered his voice. "I always hold a grudge," he whispered, eyes flashing red.

"I'll just go get my things," Harry said quickly, taking the stairs three steps at a time.

Vassago walked over to the sofa and dropped down next to Dudley. "So, this is a bit tense, isn't it."

"We were expecting the old man," Vernon said stonily.

"Yes, I expect you did," Vassago said cheerily. "Dumbledore has a nice habit of overlooking certain facts quite visible to the average eye."

"You're not like the average freak," Vernon said, he looked the demon up and down, seeming to nod approvingly. "You dress better. Brooks Brothers?"

"Shut up." He took his cigarette and stubbed it out on the coffee table, scorching a hole in one of Petunia's lace doilies. "We need to talk about Harry."

"What's the boy done this time?" Petunia asked.

"This isn't about what he's done, more about what you did."

"What are you implying?" Vernon bellowed.

"Cut the bullshit. I've read the books, I know everything," Vassago stood up and walked over to the cupboard under the stairwell, pulling it open and pointing to the old sleeping bag and child's toys. "You kept your sister's child in a closet. I'm not going to accuse you of some physical abuse. Everyone else likes to do it, because it makes you more hateable, but you don't need that. You abused him emotionally.

"I could do things to you to satisfy my anger," the demon said. "I could kill you, turn you all into rats, burn your house down. I could wreck your car, but I've already done that twice, and I don't like to be predictable. So I'm just going to say one thing to you all," Vassago stepped forwards, causing Vernon and Petunia to flinch slightly and back into the wall. "You're all damned. I'll be waiting for you to croak, and I'll be at Hell's doorstep, waiting to administer your punishment."

Vernon gave a huff, "You expect to scare us? You can't touch us. You're a wizard, you have rules, you can't break them."

Vassago gave a smile that could make a flower wilt, "I'm not a wizard, Mr. Dursley. I don't follow the rules, or the constricts of the plot: I fuck shit up for internet LOLs."

Petunia blanched, "Oh my god, you're the worst kind of person."

"That's high praise. Now, who wants to see something scary?"

* * *

Harry rushed downstairs at the sound of screams. Appearing at the base of the stairs, traveling trunk and owl in hands, he took in the sight of his Aunt, Uncle and Cousin were strapped to chairs, eyes taped open, screaming and contorting in front of a television screen, as haunting, sphincter-clenchingly nightmarish music blasted at full volume. Vassago stood smiling, cotton balls stuffed in his ears. He smiled when he saw Harry. "Ah, Harry, good timing. You ready to leave?"

"What are you doing to them?" Harry asked.

"I'm forcing them to watch a ten hour _Bee Movie_ meme compilation."

Harry looked green. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"If you're going to puke, do it before we get in the car; I just had it detailed.


	3. Christopher Walken Dies

"Fagan, Will." The first year stepped forwards nervously and took his seat on the stool. The hat fell upon his head.

 _"Merlin, a self-insert? This had better be a one-time deal or a minor recurring gag."_

"What?" Will thought, surprised, to the voice in his head.

 _"Nevermind, let's see, let's see, where to put you. Okay, to be honest, I usually just assign non-major characters randomly,_ sooo... Rave _nclaw, I guess, fuck it."_

With a fist pump, the ginger boy jumped up and ran to the blue table amid cheers.

Will didn't pay much attention to the rest of the sorting, being too busy asking questions to the Ravenclaw prefect, an ill-defined character named Terry Boot. Afterwards, he glanced around in curiosity at the grand hall. His eyes fell on a black-haired older kid with a lightning-bolt scar. "Is that Harry Potter?" he asked Terry.

"Yep, take my advice, steer the fuck away from him," Terry said.

"Why?"

"It'll just be easier for you. He has a habit of getting into wacky, life-threatening situations."

"Cool!"

"Not cool!" Terry said quickly. "He's trouble. Don't talk to him, don't agree to help him with any task, just act like you don't exist. You'll live longer that way."

"Just be glad that demon of his isn't around this year," another Ravenclaw upperclassman said.

"He has a demon?"

"Yeah, that was just the worst."

"I don't know about that," a spacey-eyed girl with turnip earrings said, leaning over. "He's one of the most popular characters in the fic, very rare among OCs."

"Luna… shut up," Terry replied, pushing the girl back.

The hall dulled as Dumbledore stood. "I have some announcements to make before you all depart for your common rooms. First off, our new Potions Master is Horace Slughorn." A fat man smiled and waved to the dull applause. "Please give him a warm welcome. Of course, that means that our beloved former Potions Master, Severus Snape, is now the DADA teacher." He paused, awaiting the chorus of boos to die down, occasionally dodging a thrown goblet of pumpkin juice.

"Wow, look at Snape's face," Terry said.

"He looks like he's going to kill Dumbledore," Will remarked.

" **Foreshadowing** ," Luna whispered.

"Luna, I swear to god, I will murder you."

"Finally," Dumbledore continued, having cast a Sonorus to be heard. "I am sorry to say that our custodian, Argus Filch, has won a free, year-long trip to the Orient. Thusly, he is in need of a replacement."

"That sounds like a nice trip," Terry said. "He could use a vacation."

* * *

The cylinder was spun hard. With the snap of a wrist, the guard loaded the revolver and put it on the table. "You put to head, pull trigger."

"I don't want to do this!" Filch shouted. The guard responded by pistol whipping him. "Alright, alright, I'll do it."

" _Fifty on creepy old fuck_ ," one of the spectators shouted, initiating a round of bets called.

"Merlin, help me," Filch moaned, tears falling down his face as he put the barrel of the gun to his temple.

* * *

"What the hell was that?" Terry asked, glancing around suddenly.

"Sounded like a _Deer Hunter_ reference," Will remarked.

"Oh, no," Terry said.

"What?"

"Pop culture references, a vacant faculty position, deviation from the canon, this can mean only one thing."

Cho Chang paled, dropping her goblet of water. " _Him_."

"Who?"

"Please put your hands together for our new custodian, and our old friend, Mr. Vassago."

"Oh yeah, book two, motherfuckas!" the demon said, vaulting up onto the stage with arms held wide, mop in one hand, dismembered chicken in the other.

The resulting collective wail of frustration from the faculty and student body caused the half the windows in the castle to shatter. Half a mile away, the Whomping Willow covered its ears, a difficult task, seeing as it had no ears. In a guest room at the Three Broomsticks, Remus Lupin sat up and howled. "Bad dog!" Tonks said, hitting him on the nose with a rolled up copy of the _Prophet_.

"Not the reception I was going for, but I'll take it," Vassago said, wiping the blood from his ear canals.

 **Oh yeah, things are happening!**


	4. White Whale

_Harry was having the loveliest dream._

 _He was standing in a field, birds chirping, wind blowing. Ginny Weasley was running towards him, arms out ready for an embrace. Malfoy was also running towards him; Harry grabbed him by the arms and threw him aside like a sack of flour. "Not even in here," he muttered._

 _Someone was playing Jazz flute; oddly enough, it was Hagrid. Guess the giant had hidden depths._

 _They embraced "Not you, Hagrid."_

 _"Sorry,'Arry."_

 _Harry and_ _Ginny_ _embraced. Gazing into those lovely eyes, Harry felt lighter than air. Smiling, Ginny leaned forwards opened her mouth, as if to speak sweet nothings into his ear._

 _Instead, he got an explosion of noise._

Harry jerked awake. Quickly, he dropped the drool-soaked pillow he had previously been caressing and threw open the bed curtains.

"What is that demon?" Ron shouted frantically, hands over his ears.

"You know what a car is, Ronald," Hermione replied, having climbed the stairs to the boy's dormitory. "Don't Flanderise yourself."

"Whose car is it, then?" Harry asked. Several sets of eyes gave Harry a pointed glance. "Oh, right. I'll go talk to him."

Pulling on last night's pants and grabbing his Firebolt, he took a shortcut out the dormitory window, climbing on the broom and pulling up at the last second. Lazily, he drifted over Hogwarts, following the grating noise across the Quidditch field, past Hagrid's Hut, and into the Forbidden Forest.

Setting down, he looked around. Vassago's car was parked under a gnarled oak tree (Trees in the Forbidden Forest are either gnarled, menacing, or dead), but the demon was nowhere to be seen. "Vassago?" he shouted, climbing off the broom and walking towards the car. As he reached out to open the door, the alarm stopped.

"Hello, Harry." The Boy-Who-Lived stiffened, eyes wide, "We meet again," Voldemort said, wand held casually in his hand. "Only this time, for the last time."

"You can't be here," Harry breathed. His hand went to his pants pocket.

* * *

"Hey, look, Harry left his wand on the bedside table," Ron said, picking up the item in question and twirling it in his hand.

"Oh, I hope he doesn't need it in a life-or-death situation anytime soon," Hermione replied. "Come on, let's go down to the Great Hall before Crabbe and Goyle get first dibs on the breakfast cereal."

"Damnit! They're always after my Lucky Charms!" Ron snarled, charging for the door leaving Hermione, mystified by Ron's inexplicable Muggle culture reference, in his wake.

* * *

"Fuck."

 _"Bombardo,"_ Harry dove out of the way as a tree branch behind him exploded into smithereens. Rolling across the hood of Vassago's car, he ducked another curse.

"Shitshitshitshitshit."

"You could fight back, Potter. This isn't really much fun for me," Voldemort called patronizingly.

Harry peered over the hood. The Dark Lord was advancing slowly towards the car. He grabbed a rock and hurled it, striking Snake-Eyes right in the dome.

"You little whelp! Do you think a rock can stop me?"

He didn't get to finish, as Harry had taken his chance while Voldemort was disorganized to dash to the trunk of the car, open it, and pull out a 12-gauge shotgun. "No, but this will," Harry said, before letting go with both barrels.

Voldemort jerked back, straightening slowly. He glanced down at the massive hole in his midsection. "You cheated," he said, stepping forwards.

Harry smiled. "If you wanted a fair fight, you shouldn't have kept your trunk gun lying around."

Voldemort smiled, his features shifting, hair sprouting from his head. The hole in his stomach shrunk as the Dark Lord's figure grew taller. "Fair point," Vassago said, pulling off the robe and throwing it into the bushes, "But you should've used your powers."

"Left my wand in the dorm," Harry said, rubbing his neck, cheeks red.

"Rookie mistake," the demon replied, producing a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket. "It's been a long time since we've seen one another."

"You picked me up from the Dursleys," Harry responded, confused. "You spent the rest of the summer at the Burrow."

"Yeah, but the latter happened off-page, and there was, like, a twelve-month gap between that chapter and the next."

"What?"

"Forget it. You ready for the new year?"

"I can barely contain my excitement," Harry replied deadpan.

"Don't worry, with me here, and Dumbledore healthy and strong as ever, you're in safe hands."

"That's not as reassuring as you think it is," Harry said. "By the way, nice ring."

"Thanks, it's a Horcrux."

"A what?"

"You'll find out soon enough."

* * *

The next time Harry saw Vassago, it was under less than ideal circumstances.

" _Out of order_?" Harry asked, pulling down the sign on the door. "Son of a-" he pounded on the door. "Vassago!"

"Is that the Land Shark?"

"Stop fucking around, I have to go."

"Now's not a good time."

"Potter!" Snape had been on his way to the dungeons when he spotted the Bane of His Existence. "Shouldn't you be in Charms?"

"I would, but I'm in the middle of something," Harry replied.

"Ten points from Gryffindor. Just what do you mean?" The professor asked, moving forwards.

"Vassago won't let me use the loo."

 _Great, the Second Bane of My Existence_ , Snape thought. He stepped forward and rapped on the door. "Demon! Let Mr. Potter go about his… business."

"No can do!" Vassago's chipper voice called back. "The floors are mighty slippery, and constitute a safety hazard."

"For the love of-" Snape said, his bucket of fucks runneth dry. "I'm coming in!" He grabbed the door and threw it open. A second later, a tentacle flew out and grabbed the Slytherin Head of House around the waist, pulling him in before he had a chance to scream.

"Merlin!" Harry shouted, urge to piss set aside as he peered through the doorway. "Is that the Giant Squid from the lake?"

"Yep!" Vassago replied, "Some students complained about the weak water flow, so I upped the pressure on the sinks in here, and she got pulled through the pipes."

"Twenty points from Gryffindor!" Snape shouted as the squid flailed him about overhead.

"Snape! Don't move!" The demon raised a harpoon gun. "She gets agitated at the sound of insufferable douchebags."

Harry stepped back and slammed the door shut. He decided to use the bathroom on the fifth-floor hallway instead.

 **Oh, that Vassago, always getting into some crazy shenanigans! What'll he do next? Why am I asking you?**


	5. Chapter 420

**We're back! So soon? Yep!**

"Mr. Potter,"

Harry glanced up from his breakfast at Professor McGonagall. "Whatever it was, I had nothing to do with it."

"...Good to know," The Head of House replied, a bemused expression briefly traveling across her stern visage. "That's not why I am here. There is a new exchange student who will be attending Hogwarts this year. He has been assigned to Gryffindor, and I'd like one of his fellow housemates to give him a tour, get him accustomed to how we do things."

"And you came to me?" Harry asked.

"No one else wanted to be bothered," the professor replied, shrugging. "I didn't want this either, but Dumbledore insisted." She turned and beckoned someone over. "Harry, this is Mike Hunt, our new exchange student from Mexico."

 _"Bonjour."_

"I'll let you two get acquainted," McGonagall said, quickly stepping away.

"Gee, Scotland still is cold. Where is the nearest taqueria around here?"

"Hello, Malfoy."

The student swore. "How did you know it was me,"

"Besides your incompetence," Harry began, "Your disguise consists of a pair of Groucho Marx glasses and a rainbow wig."

"This is all Vassago could come up with," the former Slytherin replied, embarrassed.

"Why are you in disguise in the first place?"

Malfoy sighed and sat down next to Harry, helping himself to a bagel. "After Father got arrested, the word that I'd changed sides got around quick. Mother put me in some Muggle program called Witness Protection."

"If you call this Witness Protection, then your handler must be an idiot," Harry said, laughing. He paused. "Wait, did you mention Vassago?"

"Good morning Harry," the demon said, strolling up, "Mike Hunt, you're looking well today. I see you've met the Boy-Who-Lived. Has he told you about the new taqueria in Hogsmeade, _El Gato Muerto_? Their mystery meat chalupa is… indescribable."

"Vassago, Harry knows it's me."

"What? But the disguise was foolproof!"

Harry resisted the urge to slam his head on the table. "Vassago, how did you possibly think this could work?"

"Morning Harry," Ron strolled up to the trio, pausing in front of Malfoy. "Who's this, a new student?"

 _"Bonjour-_

"Hola," Vassago quickly whispered.

"Bugger! Um, _Hola, me_ llamo _Mike Hunt._ I like mariachi, Corona Extra, and drug cartel mass homicides. _Te_ gusta _'burro shows'?_ "

Ron turned to Harry. "He seems nice," Ron said brightly, dropping down and grabbing the plate of eggs.

"I'm up to my tits in morons," Harry said.

They were interrupted by the hall door swinging open dramatically. A blood-soaked, familiar figure stood in the doorway, viscera-dripping hands outstretched. "Holy shit, is that Filch?"

"Argus!" Dumbledore said brightly, standing up from his seat. "How was your vacation?"

"I was tortured for three months in a Burmese labor camp!" Argus replied, giving the room a thousand-yard stare.

Dumbledore was speechless for a moment. "Alright, but other than that, how was your vacation? Where's Ms. Norris?"

"I… I…" Argus began, looking down at his hands. "I ate her to survive!" The entire room gasped for dramatic effect. "I've seen the Heart of Darkness!" The caretaker screamed, dropping to his knees and sobbing hysterically. "It lives inside us all!"

"Welp, looks like you're out of a job," Harry said, glancing up at the demon.

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure of that," Vassago replied, giving our hero a terrifying grin.

* * *

"Harry, dear?" Professor Sprout sidled up to his workstation.

"Yes?" he asked, eyes focused on the delicate flower in front of him. The Nundu Rose was an enticingly beautiful, yet highly toxic specimen. The wrong move could release a cloud of poisonous gasses, spelling death for everyone within a two-hundred-yard radius.

"I'm afraid the water pressure is low," the Herbology professor said, smiling apologetically. "Could you be a dear and fetch Hagrid to sort it out?"

"Sure," Harry said, gently setting down the plant. "Neville, you think you got this?"

"Yes, Harry," the Gryffindor replied optimistically.

"Good," Harry said, stepping away towards the greenhouse decontamination room. Dimly, he heard the sound of shattering pottery behind him.

 _"Nice going, Neville!"_

 _"Code blue! Run for your lives!"_

Harry continued walking, pointedly ignoring the screams. "Not my problem," he said quietly, repeating it like a mantra.

Harry walked out a door and across the rolling lawn of the school. He paused and admired the scenery. They say an image is worth a thousand words, but I'm not going to waste time describing the scene. Go watch the movies.

Harry smiled and kept walking, pausing to watch a dozen wizards in HAZMAT suits apparate just beyond the school grounds and race past him to the greenhouse. "Remember, any student that has been in contact with the plant must be liquidated!" the lead wizard shouted. He paused upon spotting Harry. "You didn't hear that!" he shouted, pointing before running off. Harry stood there for a few moments, then shrugged and moved on.

Smoke was rising from the chimney of Hagrid's hut as Harry approached. And from the windows. And the doors. Harry covered his nose as he moved closer. "Hagrid? It's Harry, are you in there?"

The door opened, and a gas-mask clad face popped out. "You a Narc?"

"What?" Harry asked. Before he could respond, he was yanked inside.

"Welcome, Harry, to the lab!" Vassago said, pulling off his gas mask and smiling.

"What on Earth is that smell?"

"Follow me," the demon said, moving over to a doorway and waving.

The next room was full of plants. Aisles and aisles of plants. Somewhere, a record player was blasting a Phish guitar solo. A complex system of heat lamps and sprinklers crisscrossed the ceiling like an intricate spider web. "Well, that's where all of Sprout's water pressure is going," Harry muttered. "What is all of this?"

"This," Vassago said, "is Demon Daze Enterprises."

He looked closer at one of the plants. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Yup," Vassago put a joint to his mouth and lit it. "Tha' chronic. It's a special breed I've been working on. I call it Satan's Select."

"Does Hagrid know you've started a marijuana operation in his house?"

"Of course he does. He helped me build it."

Just then, the plants parted as Hagrid stumbled forwards, coughing into a handkerchief the size of a tablecloth. "'Ello, 'arry! What dya think of the operation?"

"Hagrid, this violates so many school laws, both magical and mundane."

"Relax, 'arry, we're not selling to the students."

"Then who are you selling it to?"

Dumbledore emerged from the bushes, counting out some coins in his hand. "Hagrid, you said it was ten sickles an ounce, correct?"

"Fer you, 'eadmaster, I'll make it eight."

The Headmaster smiled, noticed Harry, and gave a start. "Harry! What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?"

"That's one of those great cosmic questions, man," Vassago said, sucking down the joint and passing it to Hagrid. "What is our purpose on this planet? What is the meaning of life? Don't trip over it, man."

"My head's starting to spin," Harry said, wobbling a bit.

"Uh oh, secondhand buzz!" Hagrid said. "Looks like someone's partying, whether 'e wants to or not."

* * *

"You know," Harry said, settling back in his beanbag chair. "They call me the Boy-Who-Lived, right? But Ron's alive, so couldn't he be called that, too?"

"Whoa," Vassago giggled, packing a bong. "That's true. If you think about it, any boy who is currently not dead could be called that."

"It's kind of a shitty nickname, isn't it?"

"Totally."

"Snape wants to kill me so bad," Dumbledore said, eyes fixated on a blacklight poster over Harry's head. "It's like, where's all that anger coming from?"

"How did I get here?" Malfoy asked, glancing around. "And why am I hungry?"

"Whoa, who's that kid?" Dumbledore pointed at Draco. "Is he a Narc?"

Vassago pulled out a gun and trained it on the Slytherin. "Are you a Narc, bro?"

"What? Vassago, it's me, Malfoy!"

"Malfoy doesn't wear Groucho Marx glasses!" Vassago shouted, pulling back the slide of the pistol. Draco was up and running before Vassago had a chance to take aim.

"Threatening harm to a student is against school rules, Vassago," Dumbledore said. A moment later, he cracked up. "Or something, I don't know, I'm starving. Does anyone else want Mexican?"

"I'll Floo _El Gato Muerto_ ," Vassago said. "Hold my roach, Hagrid." there was no response. "Shit, where's Hagrid?"

* * *

"Sir, do you know why we pulled you over?"

"I wuzzn't speeding, officer."

"No, but you're waddling down the middle of a busy street astride a Swiffer."

"It's m'broomstick, I'm a wizard, y'know."

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to step off the cleaning implement."

"I know m'rights! Stop and frisk is racial profilin', n' allat."

"He's resisting, get the taser."

"Hey, does anyone know where I can get a hand-weaved pancho from?"


	6. I Was Really Drunk When I Wrote This

**Randomplotbunny: Glad you're enjoying the story so far! You know, I value your input, and not because you're the latest person to leave a review on this story. You wanna get dinner sometime? Do you live in the Cincinnati area? If so, send me a message, with diagrams.** **I won't stop. N-n-n-never-never stop, never stop. I've had too much to drink, is that obvious?** **I'm pouring out my soul here. I'm afraid of** **death, and being forgotten, and clowns. The trailer for the _It_ remake really spooks me. If you agree, send me a message, with diagrams.** **Fuck, I'm so drunk….**

"Morning Harry," Hermoine said, offering a plate of breakfast to the boy. She took a sniff and frowned. "Merlin, is that the smell of Mary Jane on you? Don't you know that stuff is illegal? What were you up to last night?"

"To answer your first question, yes," Harry snapped sourly, plunking down next to his friend and grabbing a handful of bacon. "Side note: the fact you call it Mary Jane means you need to get a life. Second, yes. Third, I don't want to talk about it."

"I'm going to guess this had something to do with our demon friend," Hermione replied prissily.

"Good guess, Columbo. I swear, it's been, what, two days? He's running me ragged," Harry moaned, reaching for the coffee pot.

"It's been three weeks," Ron replied.

"Merlin, what was in that stuff?"

Just then, a loud screech filled the air. "What on earth is that?" Hermione asked. Everyone in the Great Hall covered their ears, teeth gritted in agony.

 **Hello? Is this thing on? Good morning, students,** a voice from above said, reverberating throughout the school. **The date is September 9th…** ** _are we going by the book's timeline or real life? Nevermind._** **Today's lunch special is ham on rye."**

"Oh, you have gotta be shitting me," Harry said.

 **Tryouts for Quidditch will be at six o'clock this evening. Anyone who would like to try out and, maybe, save Gryffindor from the pure disaster of Ron Weasley, should attend. Seriously, I have, like, ten grand riding on the playoffs, and I just know that ginger's gonna fuck everything up.**

 **Mr. Filch would like to add an addendum to the list of banned items: the mere mention of his cat.** ** _Kinda weird, as that's not really an item, just a point of conversation, but there you go._**

 **This week is House Elf Appreciation Week. If you see a house elf in the course of one of its assigned tasks, whether cleaning the fireplace or removing the shit from the Owlery floor, give him (or her) a high five and nothing more.**

 ** _That means you,_** ** _Hermione_** ** _._**

 **"The greenhouses are off limits until the Ministry of Hazardous Plants says otherwise. Anyone inquiring into the well-being of Neville Longbottom or anyone else involved in the Nundu Rose Incident is advised to just drop it. No one, I repeat, no one has been killed by a Ministry death squad. Trust in the Ministry. Believe in the Ministry. Ignorance is Strength. Freedom is Slavery. War is Peace.**

 **The Glee Club is holding their annual bake sale. Please just, like, buy a brownie or something. They've got enough problems to deal with as it is.**

 **If Harold Shipman Potter could report to the Headmaster's Office as soon as possible, that would be appreciated. Have a wonderful day, Hogwarts.**

Harry sighed and stood up. "I'll see you guys at Potions.

"Harold _Shipman_?" Ron asked.

"Don't ask."

* * *

"Harry, glad you could come so quickly."

 _"Why?"_

"Well, Hagrid got busted by the Muggle cops and sang like a bird, so Demon Daze Enterprises got busted in a police crackdown, so Dumbledore gave me a job as his secretary."

"No, I mean, why are you wearing a dress?"

Vassago smoothed out the folds on his floral-print Givency. "I'm a sexy secretary."

"Forget I asked. Can you just let me up?" Harry pointed to the gargoyle beside Vassago's desk.

"Of course," the demon leaned over (showing an ample amount of cleavage) and pressed the intercom. "Headmaster?"

 _"Yes?"_

"Mr. Potter to see you, sir."

 _"Send him up, please."_

"Okay. About tonight: should I wear the lace or the satin Victoria's Secret number?"

 _"This really isn't the time or place for that."_ A pause. _"The lace. I like the friction."_

"Kill me," Harry moaned.

The gargoyle stepped aside, revealing a spiral staircase. "Go on up," Vassago said, leaning back in his swivel chair. He opened a drawer and produced a bottle of purple nail polish. "The Headmaster is expecting you."

"This is going too far, and you know it," Harry hissed to the demon as he stepped onto the rising staircase.

* * *

"Ah, Harry my boy!" Dumbledore stood up from his desk. "Do you want to know Voldemort's origin story?"

"No," Harry replied.

"Splendid! Step over to the Pensieve."

"You really are insane, aren't you?"

"Like a fox," the headmaster replied. "Now, let's take a trip down Memory Lane…"

* * *

 **I'm gonna take a nap for a few days... fuck, I have so many insecurities I could talk about. Who am I? What is my sexuality? I know I have a shrink for all of this, but fuck, he's paid to agree with me, so what does he know?**

 **Oh, what an adventure we've had so far. Will Vassago find anymore odd jobs around Hogwarts? Probably. I mean, TBH, I have no recollection as to most of the plot for** ** _HBP._** **Like and subscribe! I'm going to take a nap.**

 **Fuck, just close the tab.**


	7. Curry or Skarsgard? No Holds Cage Match

**I originally posted this _IT_ spinoff as an independent story, for ostensibly no fucking reason. However, seeing as Halloween is bearing down on us, I have decided to make October...**

 _ **H**_ _ **orror Movie Spinof**_ _ **f** **Month!**_

 _ **Coming up... We've got the promised Zombie episode. I've also been considering what other 3 films to pay home-page to. In order to make this interesting, I will be holding a vote! A poll will come up containing my options, which are as follows:**_

 _ **It Follows**_

 _ **The Thing**_

 _ **The Ring**_

 _ **The Shining**_

 _The Sting **(not really)**_

 _ **Alien**_

 ** _Rosemary's Baby (could possibly tie-in with the Draco mpreg parody)_**

 ** _The Haunting of Hill House_**

 ** _The Fly_**

 **[Insert Generic Slasher Flick]**

Be sure to vote when the poll comes up! Hopefully I'll follow through. Wouldn't that be new?

* * *

"Today you will be facing your fears," Snape began, staring out over the first year Gryffindor's like a vulture over carrion. "Partly to prepare you for future challenges, partly for my amusement. Inside this chest," he pointed to said chest, "is a boggart, a creature that manifests itself as your worst nightmare. Who would like to go first. How about you?"

"Aren't you going to tell me how to fight it?" a red-haired boy asked as he stepped forward.

"No," Snape replied, then he threw open the chest and hit the deck.

The first year author-surrogate stepped towards the chest, shaking slightly. The sound of carnival music suddenly filled the classroom. A gloved hand reached out from the chest and grabbed the edge, followed by another. Then, a white-painted face emerged. "Hello, children!" the clown sneered.

"Oh, fuck," Snape whispered.

"Who wants a balloon?"

The entire class gave a collective shriek and stampeded for the door, leaving Snape to stare down the clown alone.

"You are not a regular boggart, are you?" the Slytherin professor said slowly, as he pulled out his wand.

"No, siree, bucko," the clown replied. "I'm Pennywise, the Dancing Clown. Do you want a balloon?"

"Do they float?"

The clown smiled, revealing sharp teeth. "I'm glad you asked…"

* * *

Two days later, the school was in chaos (or at least, more so than usual).

"Four students torn apart by this… creature," McGonagall said gravely, pacing back and forth through the teacher's lounge, "and all we found of Snape was his index finger."

"How can we stop It?" Flitwick squeaked. "We don't even know what It is!"

"Vassago, you must know something about this creature," the Transfiguration professor turned to the demon. "Can you stop it?"

"Hell, no," the demon replied. "I ain't tangling with no freaky clown."

"Don't tell me you're scared of clowns, Vassago."

"Of course I am! Everyone's afraid of clowns! I mean, how do they all even fit inside those tiny cars? And the face paint: they're always smiling, but are they? And the balloons!"

Just then, a single red balloon floated down from the ceiling, hovering in the middle of the room. " _Did someone say balloons?_ " a voice asked.

The demon gave a surprisingly emasculating scream. "Fuck this, I'm outta here!" he shotued as he turned and dove straight through a window.

There was a dramatic silence. "Did he know we're on the fifth floor?" Sprout asked.

" _No, I did not!_ " a weak voice shouted back.

* * *

"We have to do something."

It was the first meeting of the Hogwarts Loser's Club. They chose Moaning Myrtle's bathroom as the location of their first meeting, as Myrtle didn't really get out much.

"It's not so bad being dead, you know," the ghostly girl said, floating over the other students morosely. "You don't have to eat, or sleep, or use the toilet."

"That does sound pretty good," Neville conceded. "I can't tell you all how many times I've had to change pants this week."

"TMI, Neville," Draco said.

"Who are you again?"

"Merlin, Neville, it's me," Draco pulled of the wig.

"Oh, hey Draco; where'd Mike Hunt go?" Luna asked.

"You're all fucking stupid."

"The author is a sucker for Flanderization," the Ravenclaw replied.

"I've been doing research," Colin Greevey stepped forwards with an old photo album. I found this in the Restricted Section of the library."

"How'd you get past Pince?" Neville asked.

"She got eaten by It yesterday night, so she had other things on her mind." He flipped open the book. "Anyway, apparently this clown has been terrorizing Hogwarts once every 27 years."

"What does it do the other 26 years?" Draco asked.

"Vacations in Maine, apparently." Colin gestured to a picture. "Look, they caught him on camera once."

It was a grainy black and white shot of the clown in close up, mouth wide open. "Looks like the photographer was killed seconds after taking it," Neville pointed out.

"Awfully convenient."

Just then, the picture came to life. " _Hello, kiddies! Did I scare you?_ " Pennywise asked, stepping back into shot and grinning menacingly.

"Not really, moving pictures are kinda the norm," Colin said.

"...Oh."

Colin snapped the book shut and frisbee-tossed it into a clogged toilet. "So, I've been looking up ways to stop It."

"How do we kill It?" Draco asked.

"We can't."

"Is It the Tim Curry one or the remake?" Luna asked.

"Shut up."

"What if we use the power of our imagination?" Neville suggested.

"That is the stupidest idea I've ever heard," Draco said, pausing to glance up at the reader.

"Who are you looking at?" Myrtle asked.

"Well, first thing's first, we have to find Its lair," Draco continued.

"It's probably down in the sewer system somewhere," Luna said.

"What evidence do you have of this?"

"Well, all the students were killed while going to the bathroom."

"...Good point."

"I bet he's in the Chamber of Secrets," Myrtle said. She flew over to the sinks. "If I recall, we can get down to it through here."

"Great… how do we open it?"

* * *

"They promised me I didn't have to be in this chapter," Harry muttered, following the Loser's Club into the toilet.

"Just use Parseltongue to open the door and you can leave."

"Fine. _Open,_ " the sink slid aside. "There, now if you excuse me, I have a Dean Koontz novel to read.

"I'd've pegged you as more of a Stephen King fan," Luna said.

"Fuck no, King's a fucking hack." Harry glanced up at the reader.

"Why does everyone keep looking at the ceiling?" Neville shouted.

* * *

"Look, it's the Basilisk Harry killed in second year."

"I know, Neville. I saw the movies, too," Draco replied, stepping around the creature's remains. Colin raised his camera. "I swear, Colin, if you take one shot, I will smash it over your skull."

"C'mon, it's my one defining character trait," the young Gryffindor whined.

"Fine, but let's make it a group shot."

"Alright, everyone gather together. No duck faces. C'mon, Myrtle, smile."

"I am smiling."

Colin snapped the picture. "That'll go in my 'Dangerous Adventures' Album."

"Have you been on many dangerous adventures?" Malfoy asked.

"...I was kidnapped and tortured by a deranged portrait artist. He took… so many photos."

"Now is not the time for further character development."

Luna knelt down and picked something up. "He's here."

"What is it?" Myrtle asked.

"A balloon animal." Luna held it up. "It's a giraffe."

"Nice." Colin reached forwards to pet it. The giraffe opened its mouth and bit him. "Fuck!" Laughter echoed through the Chamber.

" _What's wrong, Colin? Didn't pay enough attention in Care of Magical Creatures?_ " The Basilisk skeleton began to shake, bones pulling together and attaching. Seconds later, a giant Basilisk skeleton towered over them. "What's the proper protocol for this situation?"

"That is some pretty good CGI," Luna remarked.

"Don't let him catch you in his Deadlights!" Colin shouted.

"His what?"

"I don't know, it's never really explained."

Malfoy shot a blasting curse at the skeleton, which exploded into dust. "Show yourself, You circus reject motherfucker!"

" _It'll take more than that to bait me._ "

"You look like Ronald McDonald's less-handsome twin!"

" _Nope, not falling for it._ "

"Balloon animals are fucking gay!"

"Oh, that is _It_!" The clown suddenly leapt down, fangs bared, then paused. "Get it?"

"What are we gonna do?" Neville asked, shaking.

"Yeah, kids, what _are_ you going to do?"

"We're gonna kick the everloving shit out of you, Freakshow!" Draco snarled, stepping forwards and raising a baseball bat.

The clown stood up straight, "I was not expecting that."

The ensuing curb stomping was breathtaking in its brutality. It was kinda like the last scene in _Death Proof._ Oh, you've never seen _Death Proof_? It's great, Tarantino's most underrated film. Kurt Russell is a killer stunt driver, and there's a clever homage to Vanishing Point, and it's got Zoe Bell, who is just sexy as all hell and kicks ass to boot. Seriously, go to Blockbuster and get Death Proof. Are there still Blockbusters around? Fuck, I'm old.

Draco threw down the bloodied bat, staring down at the twitching mound of bone and paste before the group. "We did it, we killed It."

"Not yet," Luna said. "We have to complete the ceremony."

"What ceremony?"

"We have to have underaged group sex to remove our innocence and naivety, thus transitioning from frightened children into rational adults." There was a long pause as everyone stared at the Ravenclaw girl with looks of disgust and repulsion. "Are we not going to follow that part of the book?"

* * *

 **Twenty-seven Years Later…**

Draco Malfoy put down his quill and leaned back in his office chair. His eyes wandered over to the over his desk. A photograph hung there, the Hogwarts Loser's Club, smiling for Colin's camera. Draco smiled. So long ago.

Just then, the photo shifted, as Luna's face morphed into a clown. "Hey, look, I've got tits," the clown said, cackling.

Draco fell out of his chair. Lying dazed on the floor, he watched as a balloon drifted through an open window and landed next to him.

 _To be continued?..._

 **No, we're done here.**


	8. More Like Deus Ex M-Ash-ima! You'll See

"Welcome, class, to a very special Defense Against the Dark Arts Class."

"Who let you teach this class again?" Harry asked, a question at the tip of most of the assembled students' tongues.

"Well, since Snape got eaten by a freaky clown demon last week, I've agreed to fill in," Vassago explained patiently.

"Wait, Snape's actually dead?"

"Don't worry, Miss Grainger. Due to _**Horror Movie Spinoff Month,**_ we'll be rebooting for continuity come November. Besides, Snape has to live. He still needs to kill Dumbledore."

 _"Snape kills Dumbledore?!"_

"Moving on," Vassago quickly replied, stepping from behind his desk to a shrouded object. "Under this shroud, I have a special magical creature for us to examine."

"Before we get any further," Malfoy spoke up, "Did you get Dumbledore's permission to bring a potientially dangerous magical creature into the school?"

"Fuck no, he'd have never allowed it, Senor Hunt."

"Who?" Malfoy asked. "Wait, that's me. _Lo siento_."

"Can I continue my lecture, or are there any more pressing questions?"

"With you, there are an infinite number of pressing questions at any given time," Harry noted.

"Behold!" Vassago whipped the shroud off and over his head. "A real, living (dead) zombie! Gaze upon its unholy visage! Tremble at its unearthly terror! Wrinkle your nose at that dank ass stank, the accumulation of several months of slowed decay! Shake, rattle, and hum at its… why is nobody following my directions?"

"The cage is empty, professor."

Vassago glanced over at the cage. The expression on his face could only be described as Jerry Lewis having a stroke. "Oh, fuck me."

"Vassago, where is the zombie?" Hermione asked, slowly.

"That is an excellent question. The first student to answer that will receive six hundred house points."

"HOLY SHIT! ZOMBIES IN THE HALLWAYS!" a child's curdling scream echoed through the classroom door, before being drowned out by a chorus of moans and the sound of someone chewing with their mouth open.

"Ok, he got the answer, but he's dead, so no points for anyone."

* * *

Five pairs of feet raced down the hallway, followed by the shuffling beat of several dozen more. "We have to escape!" Hermione shouted, knocking over a suit of armor to slow their pursuers.

"Then why are we heading for Gryffindor Tower?" Malfoy asked.

"Because we need to get Crookshanks!"

Ron slid to a halt. "Wait, that was your first priority? Your fucking cat? We abandoned Neville to die!"

"He's a secondary character, we have more!"

"Yes, but your cat is tertiary, at best."

"Ron, I am not discussing this!"

"Just fuck already, you two," Malfoy muttered.

"Shut up and grab something heavy!" Harry shouted, wrenching a Halberd from the steel fingers of a suit of armor.

"Why?"

Harry pointed down the hallway in front of them. Another horde of recently reanimated corpses was proceeding towards the five.

"Oh, shit, they breed fast," Vassago said.

"Are you taking notes?" Hermione shouted, face turning red.

"Oh, I'm sorry, the girl whose studiousness is her defining character trait is giving me shit for wanting to learn."

"We should have used you as bait to escape instead of Parkinson."

"You tried that," the demon replied, holding up the gnawed stump of his left hand. "Immortal object, remember?"

Harry interrupted, "Can you all just shut up and kill these fuckers?" he shouted as he cleaved the late Dennis Creevey in half.

"If only we had a muggle gun or something," Ron moaned.

"What happened to that gun I gave you at the department of mysteries?" Vassago asked.

"Oh yeah." Ron pulled the weapon from his waistband and pulled back the slide.

"There were originally ten of us, and you had a gun this entire fucking time?"

"Shouting is not going to get us anywhere, Miss Grainger."

"Ron, can you shoot Vassago for me, please."

 **BANG**

"...Ow."

"Thank you."

And so they fought. Many undead scum fell before them. Harry dove into the crowd like a blood knight. Ron headshot Mr. Filch, thus checking one item off his bucket list. Hermione impaled three reanimated Ravenclaws like some sort of knowledge kebab. Vassago took notes. Still, they were vastly outnumbered. And were forced to fall back into an abandoned classroom. They blocked the door with old chairs and tables, but the barricade was failing fast.

"Well, we're fucked," Vassago pulled a hip flask out and passed it around. "Any regrets?"

"Too many to list," Harry said.

"Most of them involve you to some extent," Draco noted.

"Forget I asked that."

"I kinda wish I'd gotten laid before I died," Ron said.

"Me too," Hermione said.

The two students glanced at one another in surprise. Cheesy nineties guitar music started to play. They moved closer, mouths inches apart.

"What the fuck?" Draco shouted, spoiling the mood.

"No, wait, let them finish," Vassago said, ready to take notes.

Just then, the wall behind them exploded inwards, shrouding them in chips of stone and dust. A tall, strikingly handsome figure stood in the gaping hole. In one hand, he held a shotgun. He held nothing in the other hand, as he had no hand to hold things with. Instead, where his wrist stopped, a chainsaw continued. "Sup, wizards?" the stranger said, voice smooth like whiskey collecting in a hooker's navel.

"Bruce Campbell!" The five survivors shouted.

"Looks like you've got quite the Deadite infestation." The celebrated star of stage and screen cocked his shotgun and gave a smile to melt several pairs of nylon underpants. "Good thing I was in the neighborhood."

"Bruce Campbell is a wizard?" Harry asked.

"No, you fool," Vassago corrected. "Bruce Campbell is a god."

Just then, the barricade failed, unleashing a swarm of hellspawn. Bruce glanced over at them. His smile grew. "Showtime."

"This is going to be epic," Vassago whispered.

And lo, it was.

* * *

" _Whelp_ , that ended on a high note," Vassago said.

"Everyone we love is dead," Hermione answered, gazing across the carnage in the Great Hall with a thousand yard stare.

"Yeah, but we got selfies with Bruce Campbell, so it wasn't that bad," Ron said, picking up a sandwich and sorting out the ham from the gore.

"That was a disaster," Harry said.

"You could almost call it," Vassago paused, pulled out a pair shades, and popped them on. "A cat-Ash-trophe."

* * *

 _ **WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH-**_

* * *

 _"Ron, shoot him again."_

 **You guys have twenty four hours to vote for which films you want me to parody. Turnout so far has been... three readers. C'mon, are you even into this?**


	9. This Was A Stupid Chapter to Write

"Have any of you seen Neville's toad?" Hermione popped her head into the boys dormitory, eyebrows furrowed.

"Trevor? I didn't know Neville still had him," Ron said, quickly stowing his copy of Playwizard under his covers.

"Well, he's missing again, and Nev's freaking out." She vanished down the stairs.

Ron turned and looked over at Harry. "Should we do something?"

"I have enough on my plate being the Boy-Who-Lived," Harry replied, not looking up from his game of Solitaire. "Knowing that toad, it'll probably appear at an inappropriate moment for the sake of comedy relief."

* * *

"Trevor, you were a dear, dear friend."

Harry slammed his head against an oak tree hard enough to cause a nearby woodpecker to mistake his scalp for a mate. As he furiously fought off the horny bird, Trevor's funeral service carried on in the background. Neville had chosen a peaceful spot by the lakeside and had placed the carcass of the poor amphibian, so cruelly taken from this world by an unexpected encounter with the front tire of Vassago's car, in the plastic wrap off a Hobnobs container.

"You were there for me when I was alone, gave me the courage to face insurmountable challenges," Neville continued, oblivious to the fact that most of the assembled 'mourners' were checking their phones during the eulogy. "You were a good toad: you ate all the flies that infested the boys dormitory, you didn't pee on peoples hands when held, and although you continuously left your spawn on my pillow, you did always warn me before I put my head in it."

"I've completely lost the thread of this," Ron muttered. Hermione elbowed him hard in the shoulder.

"I just wish…" Neville bit back a sob. "I just wish you'd been around to see me graduate."

Immediately after, Hagrid broke in with a bagpipe rendition of House of Pain's seminal 1992 hit "Jump Around", which sounded about as terrible as you guessed. Afterward, Neville sprinkled a handful of ash over the little cookie bag. "If anyone would like to say some final words… where'd they all go."

"They left 'fore I got tae the second verse, Neville," Hagrid said, striding over and resting a massive, unwashed hand on the young man's elbow.

"Trevor was my oldest friend, Hagrid, I don't know how I can ever go on without him."

"You could always put him in the...," Hagrid said, then stopped.

"The what?"

"Nothing. I've been making a conscious effort to control my verbal slippage, Mr. Longbottom. That was a near thing, but you'll have to learn about this potential miracle from someone else." With that, the half-giant turned and walked away.

Neville stood alone by the grave. "Huh, I thought for sure he'd let something slip."

"Pssst." Vassago appeared from behind a tree. "He was talking about the Pet Sematary."

"Go on."

"Alright, legend tells of a place deep in the Forbidden Forest, an old Indian animal burial ground."

"I didn't know there were Native Americans in Scotland."

"Not those Indians. It's the Krishnapoor family plot."

"You mean the Krishnapoors that own Hogsmeade Tandoori?"

"Yep, that's the one."

"Their naan is incredible."

"It is. It's so sturdy yet so soft."

"Magical."

"Well, they are wizards, Neville."

"Of course. Continue with your story, Vassago."

"Anyhow, the ground there apparently possesses magical properties. Rumor has it anything now that is buried there will come back to life in one day's time."

"A cemetery that brings pets back from the dead?" Nevill said, eyes wide. "That's amazing! But what does that have to do with Trevor?" Vassago opened and shut his mouth like a fish. Sighing, he fished out his iPad and opened up the Flanderization options. Under Neville, he moved the slider from ' _Always Sunny Post-De Vito'_ to ' _Always Sunny Pre-De Vito._ ' A second later Neville's face lit up. "I can bring Trevor back from the dead!"

"Bingo."

"That sounds like something too good to be true," Neville replied, eyes narrowed. "What's the catch?"

"I dunno, Neville. I do recall the man who told me about it saying that it wasn't worth it, something about how 'Sometimes dead is better'. But that's crazy! Being alive is way better than being dead!"

"Thanks, Vassago! Your secondhand wisdom has saved the day!"

"Happy to help, Neville! It'll all work out, make no mistake!"

* * *

"Guys! I've made a horrible mistake!" Neville burst through the portrait of the Fat Lady, face caked in mud, eyes wide and red.

"Not now, Neville!" Harry shouted, raising a finger to stop the other Gryffindor. "Okay, so next we take the hex wrench and attach screw 5-3 to slot 7b on board 9-02-10."

"There is no slot 7b!" Hermione said, holding up the board.

"That's because that's board 90-2-10, Hermione, not 9-02-10," Ron said.

"Do you want to build this, Ron, or am I just going to be undermined by you every step of the way."

"This has taken us three hours and half the pieces are still in the package!" Harry

"I'm telling you, we need to

"Wel, that's what the instructions are telling me, Ron!"

"Fucking Ikea!" Ron picked up the half-assembled Harbjorgen coffee table and tossed it into the fireplace. "Next time we're ordering from Walmart!"

"Why did we even need a coffee table in the first place?" Draco, who had been standing against the wall watching, asked.

"Guys! Serious problems!" Neville screamed.

"Fine!" Harry groaned, turning. "What is the matter?"

"I buried Trevor in the Krishnapoor family pet sematary and he came back to life but now he's evil!"

The was a long silence. "Neville, what the actual fuck are you talking about?"

"Trevor's alive, but he's changed! He's an abomination!" Neville repeated, hands scratching at his head. "We have to kill him!"

"Neville, how much danger can an evil toad pose on Hogwarts?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, what;s the worst he can do? Mobile an entire toad army against us?" Harry added, laughing.

"Oh, fuck, he mobilized an entire toad army against us," Harry said.

The boy-who-lived and friends stood before the Hogwarts front gates, staring down a fighting force of amphibians a thousand strong. A fierce storm had blown in, and lightning lit up the sky dramatically at times.

"An undead, evil dragon," Ron said, counting off with his right hand. "That I could get behind. Hell, a demonic owl attacking school, I could buy that. This is just wrong."

"Where did they even get a tank?" Draco asked.

"I'm not going to ask, because the answer is just going to be stupid," Harry said. He pointed to a frog standing atop the tank. "Neville, is that Trevor?" Harry asked.

"Yes."

"How long has he had a goatee?"

"Since he became evil."

"That explains it."

"Humans! After today, you shall no longer be the dominant species on this earth!" the army's leader shouted. "We shall exterminate you from this realm. Then we shall rebuild the world in our image, with algae-infested ponds in every yard and free Netflix for all."

"Free Netflix?" Ron said, perking up. "That doesn't sound half-bad."

"Ron, he's talking about genocide of the human race."

"Yeah, but Stranger Things."

"Ron!"

"Hey, it's a good show," Vassago interrupted.

"Amazing."

"You are all powerless to stop us! Our numbers dwarf yours. We shall be victorious! We shall be merciless! We shall!"

For a few moments, all the assembled students could see was whiteness. When it cleared, a smoking patch of ground stood where Neville's toad had once squatted.

"Holy shit, did he just get struck by lightning?" Ron asked.

"Maybe God smote him for his unnatural reincarnation," Hermione posited.

"Don't be stupid, Hermione," Harry replied. "God's dead. We killed him in 1997, when the first book corrupted the youth of the world to the powers of witchcraft."

"So what happened?" Neville asked.

"If I had to guess, the author had no valid way to finish this chapter, so he merely resorted to a hackneyed, unfulfilling deus ex machina."

"That's stupid."

"Yep."

"Now what?" Hermione asked.

"Well, without a leader, the army will collapse due to the power vacuum," Vassago hypothesized.

"Will that work?" Ron asked.

"It worked with Al-Qaida."

"Did it?" Harry asked.

"Well, at least this is all behind us," Neville said, laughing. Seconds later, his chest cavity exploded in a gory mist as a fanged, frog-like head emerged from the Gryffindor's bellybutton, hissing and snarling.

"I'm sensing a recurrent theme here," Hermione said, wiping blood from her face.

"A constant subversion of expectations?" Ron replied.

"No, growing evidence that the series has jumped the shark," Harry corrected his friend.

 **Okay, I might've botched the Pet Sematary spoof. In all fairness, I've never seen the film, and couldn't be bothered to do so.**


	10. Charles Dickens Cheated on his Wife

Oh, how Lord Voldemort hated the Wizarding Christmas season.

This particular Christmas Eve was cold and dreary, with a dark frost collecting on the windows of Malfoy Manor. Despite the luxurious appointments of the house, a chilly draft ran through the rooms, causing shivers amongst the gathered Death Eaters kneeling before their master. Above them, A horde of Dementors only added to the miserable atmosphere.

It was like a Christmas party at a contagious disease ward, where everyone's there, but no one wants to be there, you know? And you try to make it merry, with plastic bunting and cardboard snowflakes in the windows, but everyone's miserable because, you know, they're dying, and there's mistletoe, but everyone's got TB or SARS or something, so kissing is sorta off the table. And you can't really celebrate with your neighbors, because they could kick it at any moment and so the gift that you bought them would just be, you know, for nothing. Like, you threw out the receipt, so the store's not exactly going to take back that sweater, even if it's been sterilized to get all the Ebola out of it.

That was a long digression, sorry. Where was I? Right, Voldemort.

Our favorite Wizard Hitler was seated at his throne, casting his snake-eyed glare across the gathered minions with cruel detachment. "Wormtail," he hissed. His one-armed underling appeared at his side. "What is today's date?"

"D-d-december 24th, my Lord," Wormtail replied, shaking. He always shook, even if it wasn't cold. Maybe it was a nervous disorder. Maybe it was Parkinson's. Voldemort didn't know, nor did he care to ask; it annoyed him regardless.

"I thought so," the Dark Lord said, standing up in his chair and smoothing out his robes. "And what is so special about this particular day, Wormtail?"

Pettigrew paused, scratching his head. "It is C-C-Christmas, my Lord."

"Christmas!" Voldemort snarled. With a wave of his hand, he sent a gust of cold air down the ranks of Death Eaters, knocking a few of the less sturdily built over. "A time of merriment and cheer and peace on Earth and goodwill to all Wizarding men and women."

"...Yes?" Pettigrew answered, unsure if his Lord was asking a question.

"Will you be celebrating, Wormtail?" Pettigrew was silent, save for the sound of his teeth chattering. "There's no need to shake, my trusted servant. Tell me, how do you traditionally celebrate the winter holidays?"

"Well, I try to make a f-f-Floo call to my parents, but they refuse to speak to m-m-me, on account of I b-betrayed my greatest friends."

"Understandable. Anything else?"

"Then I go to the Bulstrode's holiday party."

Voldemort nodded. "I see. Bulstrode!" A wizard in the front row stiffened at his name. "You traditionally throw a Christmas party?"

"Y-yes, m'Lord."

"And what, generally, do you do at these parties?"

"Well, there's dancing, and a banquet dinner, and then presents are exchanged."

"Presents?"

"Y-yes, m'Lord. We usually do a Secret Santa, where we are all assigned a random individual to give a present to."

"And who are you giving a gift to this year, Bulstrode?"

"...I'd rather not say, they're in this room." Voldemort narrowed his eyes at the wizard. "It's to Lord Greengrass, m'Lord."

"And what did you get Lord Greengrass?"

"...A tennis racquet."

"You remembered!" A voice echoed out from the crowd.

"Silence!" Voldemort shouted. It echoed through the hall. " _Crucio._ " Bulstrode fell to the ground, writhing in pain. "What do you all have to celebrate? It has been eighteen months since my resurrection, and the Potter child lives! And what have you all done to solve that problem?" There was an awkward silence. Voldemort answered the question. "Nothing!" With a wave of his wand, the Cruciatus curse struck the entire congregation. All fell, screaming and groaning.

After a few minutes (ten, to be precise), Voldemort released them from their torment. Over the sobs, he spoke. "There will be no cheer in this house while Potter lives. Get out, all of you! And if I hear you had one ounce of holiday festiveness this evening I'll… hammer your ears to the ceiling and leave you hanging there for a week!"

The Death Eaters dispersed, some carrying the weaker ones, leaving Voldemort and, in some cases, puddles of urine in their wake. Voldemort turned and glared at Wormtail, who had hidden behind the throne throughout the festivities. "Wormtail?"

"I was j-just about to go, my L-l-l-l-"

Voldemort raised a hand. "No, stay. I won't throw you out on Christmas Eve. I'm not a monster."

"Thank you, my Lord."

"However, you must still be punished." He flicked his wand. A second later, Wormtail's silver hand wrapped around its owner's neck and began to squeeze. "Your hand will choke you until you are nearly dead, but it won't kill you. I will release you from your torment tomorrow, if I feel like it."

"S-s-so m-merciful, m-m-my Lord." Pettigrew shrieked, his face turning an alarming shade of purple.

"If anyone is feeling suicidal enough to bother me, I shall be in my chambers. Good night."

* * *

The clocks struck twelve, echoing throughout the bleak house, and yet the Dark Lord was still awake. He sat in his chambers, before the fire, plotting. He was always plotting. There was very little else he did. Except for checkers, but these days no one wanted to play against him after he killed Youngblood after the Death Eater had bested his master twice in a row.

Suddenly, a knock sounded at the door. Voldemort started, surprised that anyone would dare disturb him.

"Who would dare disturb me?" he shouted to the door.

A white fog began to drift under the door, filling the room. Despite several locking charms, the heavy oak door swung open, hinges squeaking like the sound of a dozen mice castrati singing a high C. A figure drifted in, dragging chains along the floor. Voldemort's eyes widened as he recognized the face.

"Headmaster Dippett!"

"Tom Riddle," the ghost said, peering down at his former student. "It has been a long time. How are your studies?"

"...What?"

"Sorry. Once a teacher, always a teacher." the ghost shrugged, rattling his chains.

"What sort of nonsense is this!" Voldemort snarled, knocking his chair over as he stood up. "Did Dumbledore put you up to this? I warn you, I know of many exorcism spells."

"Albus knows not of my doings," the ghost said. "I have come to teach you to mend your ways."

"Snowball's chance in hell," Voldemort replied. "You cannot stop my plans."

"Not those ways, although that is something we must consider down the line." Dippett said. "No, I speak of your hatred towards Christmas, of your cruelty to your fellow wizards in this time of love and cheer."

"What are you going to do?" Voldemort snarled. "Make me sing carols? Have me dress as Merlin and deliver presents to all the good witches and wizards? Have three ghosts show me the meaning of Christmas in an attempt to make me see the error of my ways?"

"No," Dippet said. "Wait, yes, that last one. You shall be visited this night by three ghosts. They shall come each hour hence. Each will reveal to you your past, present, and future."

"Lovely."

"In the meantime, I am obligated by ghost law to attempt to strike fear into your heart. How about I rattle these chains around and moan a bit? Would that do anything for you?"

"Probably not, but you might as well try."

"Very well. _WHOOOOOOOOOO! WHOOO! THESE CHAINS ARE HEAVY!_ "

"That's rather good."

"Thank you."

* * *

A minute later, Voldemort sat up with a gasp. He was in his chair, by the fire. "Hah, just a nightmare," Voldemort muttered. He rarely had nightmares anymore. Usually, his dreams were full of nice things, like beheadings and state-sanctioned genocide.

The clock struck one. The room filled with fog. "Oh, damn," Voldemort muttered, as he felt himself drift away.

* * *

When the mist cleared, Voldemort was in a familiar hallway. He glanced around, confused for a moment. Peering through an open door, he saw a long row of beds. Entering the room, he walked to the window and peered out. Beyond, the city of London slept, although large balloons floated high above the skyline. Barrage balloons, as Voldemort recalled.

"Tom." Voldmort spun around at the voice. A young woman, rather plain to look at, stood in the doorway, an aura of light around her.

"...Mother." Voldemort whispered. He stepped forwards, then paused. "No, this can't be you."

"I am the Ghost of Wizard Christmas Past," the figure of Merope Gaunt replied. "I merely take this form to bring comfort to you."

"How can this bring me comfort?" Voldemort replied. "You abandoned me here, in this damned Muggle orphanage!" he gestured around him.

"Oh, I'm sorry to have abandoned you, I was too busy, you know, dying giving birth to you, but sure hold the high mortality rate of childbirth in 1930s England against me, that's fine."

"Was my mother a bitch, too?"

"Shut up and watch," the ghost said, pointing to the door behind her.

The sound of voices grew louder. A young boy ran into the room and slammed the door shut behind him, bolting it.

"Come out here, freak!" a voice shouted through the wood. "We're not done with you!"

"Muggle filth," Voldemort muttered.

"Muggle filth," the boy muttered a second later, stepping back and slumping against the wall and began to cry.

"Do you remember this, Tom?" the ghost asked.

"How can I forget," Voldemort said, stepping towards his past self. "This was the winter of first year, when Dumbledore made me come back to the orphanage. 'Oh, the castle will be empty, Tom. Best to spend the holidays with children your age.'" Voldemort wiped some wetness from his eyes.

"Are you crying?" the ghost asked.

"NO!" Voldemort replied defensively. He turned and pointed to his younger self. "What cruelty, to show a child the wonders of magic, and then throw him back into the wickedness of the mundane."

Then, there came a knock at the window. Tom and Voldemort glanced up. A girl stood in the window, a surprising feat, as they were six stories up. He tapped again. Tom jumped up and ran over, throwing up the sash. "Minnie!"

"Hello, Tommy." the girl said, smiling. "I see you're having a rough time of things."

"You wouldn't believe," Tom replied.

"Minnie McGonagall," the ghost said, surprised. "I didn't think you had friends."

"She won't admit it," Voldemort sniffed. "We dated briefly in seventh year. She wouldn't put out, bitch."

"...Okay, wow. You make it really difficult to sympathize with you."

"What are you doing here?" Tom asked.

"Dumbledore told m'dad you were having a rough time of it, so I thought I'd spring you loose for the week. A jailbreak, as the Muggles say," Minnie said, laughing. "Hop on, this broom can seat two."

Just then, the door broke open, and two boys stormed in. "Riddle!" the oldest shouted. They then stopped, mouths open, at the sight of Tom and Minnie aboard a broomstick.

Tom flipped his middle finger up. "See you next Christmas, gits!" he shouted as they zoomed away into the chill London night.

In spite of himself, Voldemort chuckled.

"You see the magic of Christmas, Tom?" the ghost of Merope Gaunt asked, moving up next to him.

"That was charity," Voldemort said, eyes darkening.

"It was still the thought that counted."

Voldemort sighed. "Perhaps."

* * *

There was a flash, and suddenly Voldemort found himself transported to a room full of people.

"Does this look familiar?" Merope asked, appearing at the Dark Lord's side.

"It's the McGonagall Christmas Ball!" Voldemort exclaimed. "And there's Rufus McGonagall himself!" he pointed to a jocular-looking rotund man, standing by the punchbowl and beaming at the crowd. "But Rufus has been dead for years!"

"Yes, you killed him, as I recall."

"Did I?" Voldemort asked. He honestly lost track sometimes of the people he'd murdered. Another individual caught his eye. "And there's Charlus Potter!"

"Who you killed in '78."

"And Veritas Lovegood."

"Killed in '69."

"And Dodona Trelawney!"

"'73."

"Okay, Trelawney was not my fault. She ran in front of a Muggle bus while I was chasing her. In hindsight, she really should have seen that coming."

"Fine, you haven't killed everyone you've ever cared for. You see the point I'm trying to make, right?"

Voldemort wasn't listening. He'd caught sight of his younger self. Tom stood over by the fireplace, eyes wide, mouth open. "What are you staring at?" Merope asked.

"The most beautiful thing I'd ever seen," Voldemort whispered. He followed young Tom's gaze. "Homer Slughorn."

"Oh, well that's… what, _Homer_?"

"Yes, what's wrong with that?"

"So, you're _gay_?"

"Is that a problem?"

"No. No! Of course not. It's just… you never mentioned it."

"Why should I? It doesn't define me."

"Huh, this is awkward. Let's get back to watching you and your little crush."

"Please don't call him that."

Tom and a white-haired young man danced for a while. Voldemort threw himself down into a chair and watched. Merope stood, playing with her fingers. "I'll just… give you some privacy for a few minutes," she muttered, before moving over to the punchbowl.

When she returned, Voldemort was still enraptured. "He was the nicest boy you could ever ask for," the Dark Lord said.

"Yes…"

"I wish this could go on forever," Voldemort mumbled.

"I wish this could go on forever," Young Tom whispered into Homer's ear.

"Is he related to Horace Slughorn, the Potions Professor?" Merope asked.

"Yes. They were brothers"

"I didn't know he had a brother. Whatever happened to him?"

The room began to fade out, and Voldemort felt the familiar coldness in his heart. "I think we're about to see."

* * *

It was winter, again. Snow flurried outside the window of St. Mungo's. The ward was empty save for an occupied bed and a guest. Voldemort walked slowly towards them.

"It was a muggle illness," Voldemort said quietly. " _Polo_ or something like that. There was no cure for it then."

They watched as young Tom leaned forward in his chair, touching Homer's hand. Homer didn't respond. When Tom let go, the boy's hand fell limp on the bed.

"Take me away, I don't want to see anymore," Voldemort said.

* * *

 **Wow, that got fucking sad. Happy holidays everyone! Sorry the Halloween stories fell through, I got caught up in schoolwork and [insert crap excuse here]. Having said that, I hope you all enjoy this three-part story. Stay tuned for chapter II! And Merry Christmas/Hannukah/Kwanza (do people celebrate Kwanza? I'm not trying to be funny, I've just never met anyone who actually celebrates it. Leave a comment if you do, or don't. I don't want to sound patronizing.**


	11. Can't think of a title Deal with it

**Welcome back! Last time, grumpy old Voldemort was visited by the ghost of Headmaster Dippett and his mother, who showed him moments from his past. It was pretty sad, I guess, but then again, it's Voldemort, so how many fucks can you give,amiright?**

* * *

Voldemort jumped with a start. He glanced around. It was his bedroom in Malfoy Manor. He fell back in his chair and glared at the fireplace, which had burnt out, leaving nothing but smoke.

The clock on the mantle struck two. Voldemort shot a curse at it, causing it to explode into smithereens. Out in the hall, a passing house elf grimaced at the sound, but kept walking. The last house elf to disturb the Dark Lord's tantrums had to be steam-cleaned out of the carpet.

Voldemort stood and glided over to the window. Outside, all was still, the earth covered in thick white snow. Voldemort glared and pulled the curtains closed.

"Merry Christmas, Tom!"

The Dark Lord turned around, only to find his room had changed. Where before it was dark and cold, a fire was roaring in the grate, and all the walls were bedecked with garlands and ribbons. In the center of the room, sitting in his chair, sat the very bane of his existence.

"Dumbledore!" Voldemort snarled. He quickly shot of a salvo of curses. Dumbledore seemed unaffected by them, and continued to eat the apple he held in his hand.

"Are you quite finished, Tom? As before, I am not the real Dumbledore. I am the Ghost of Christmas Present."

"I've had enough of this!" Voldemort hissed, he walked over to the bedroom door and threw it open.

The room beyond was not familiar to the Dark Lord. He stepped through in confusion, glancing around. It was a circular chamber, warmed by a roaring fire and decorated in a red/gold motif. Two staircases led out of the room.

"Where am I?" he asked.

"Gryffindor common room," Albus said, appearing alongside him.

A figure emerged from one of the staircases. Voldemort scowled in recognition. "Potter." Harry collapsed in a chair by the fire, staring into it forlornly. "Why must you show me this?"

"I am showing you young Harry's Christmas. Much like you, he has no family to go home to. He is alone, with no one but the portraits and ghosts of Hogwarts to keep him company. It has been like this for his entire life."

"If you're trying to make me feel guilty about killing his parents, than you'll be sorely disappointed," Voldemort muttered, continuing to shoot daggers at the boy.

"Very well, then, let's go elsewhere."

* * *

They found themselves in St. Mungo's again, the same hospital ward. This time, two of the beds were occupied. A young man sat in a chair between them. "Hello, Mum, Dad."

"Is this the Longbottom brat?" Voldemort asked, moving to stand behind the Gryffindor.

"It is, and those are his parents, who Bellatrix Black drove to insanity years ago."

"Cry me a river," Voldemort replied.

"I just wanted to tell you both I'm doing really well this year."

"Bluh," Mr. Longbottom replied.

"I've got high honors in Herbology. You'd be proud, Mum."

Mrs. Longbottom drooled onto her pillow.

"This is just embarrassing," Voldemort said, turning away.

"Right," Dumbledore said, rolling his eyes behind the half-moon spectacles. "Let's move on, then, shall we?"

* * *

"This is Bulstrode Manor," Voldemort said, casting an eye around the room. The ancient house had come under hard times, the Bulstrodes being far from the wealthiest wizards. Still, an attempt had been made to liven things up. Someone had even put Christmas wreaths around the necks of the dead house elves mounted on the walls, a nice touch.

There came a knock on the door. Magnus Bulstrode appeared, answering the furious knocks. Snape stumbled in from the cold, accompanied by a white-haired figure shivering in a ragged cloak. "Lucius!" Magnus exclaimed, hugging his old friend. "How was Azkaban?"

"Fuck off, Bulstrode," Malfoy replied, staggering inside. "You got any brandy?"

"Come into the parlor; I know Cissy will be so happy to see you."

"Is my boy here?" Lucius asked, eyes hopeful.

"Alas, no sign of him. Rumor has it he's in the Andes Mountains, living as a llama."

"You sent him an invitation, right?"

"Aye, Lucius. I suppose he doesn't think it wise to attend. Not with our Lord after him."

"Yes, that's probably the case." Malfoy collapsed his weight into a rickety chair by the door. "That bastard wouldn't dare see his pride hurt, especially not by a sixteen-year-old boy." A house elf appeared with a glass of brandy. "Do you think he hates me?" Lucius asked, glancing down at his right hand, mangled by a muggle bullett.

"Hate is a strong word, Lucius," Bulstrode said. He pulled the man up. "Come, now, let's get you into the party. We're just about to do Secret Santa."

"Joy," Lucius muttered. "You'll have to excuse me if I have no present."

"Naturally, Lucius."

Voldemort turned to the ghost. "What is the meaning of all this?"

"You have quite the influence on many people's lives, Tom," Dumbledore replied. "Because of your actions, some cannot have very merry a Christmas."

"Oh, you want me to pity them."

"I want you to _empathize_ with them."

Voldemort glanced over to the parlor door. Through it, he could hear the sound of music and laughter. "Anything else to show me?"

"I could show you Pettigrew. He's still being strangled by his own hand in the Malfoy's dining room.

"Merlin, I'd completely forgotten." The Dark Lord considered it. "No, just take me to the next fellow. Let's hope he's not as awful as you."

There was a long silence from the other ghost. "See, you say that…"


	12. Who even eats goose these days?

Voldemort awoke. He looked around. Then he cast his eye to the fireplace mantle. The clock was broken. He recalled destroying it earlier.

One more ghost… Voldemort stood up and moved to the door. Opening it, he peered into the hallway. Somewhere, far off, the clock struck three.

He waited, eye pressed to the crack in the doorway, watching. After several minutes, he closed the door and locked it again. "Christmas Yet to Come," he muttered. If so-called seers couldn't predict the future, what hope did a ghost have?

He turned, and bumped into a figure that had crept up behind him. It stood seven feet tall and was clad in a cloak so black it seemed to consume the light around it. Voldemort felt a chill colder than anything he'd felt, alive or floating as a wraith in Romania those many years.

"Who are you?" Voldemort asked. The figure made a gesture with its hands, as if to say, _Fucking guess._ "You're the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?" Voldemort asked. The figure towering over him nodded. Its face was covered and any features were impossible to make out. "So you're to show me the future." The figure raised and hand and gestured to the door behind him. Voldemort turned the knob and opened it, not knowing quite what to expect.

* * *

He found himself outside. The air was warm, not from the summer sun, but from the smoldering ruins around him. Voldemort glanced around, noticing the Hogwarts clock tower, its timepiece blown out by some kind of explosion. The figure stood beside him, it seemed to follow his every move, matching his step, as though guarding him. "What am I to make of this?" Voldemort asked. "Did I triumph?"

The figure pointed to the center of the courtyard. A figure lay there, covered unceremoniously by a white sheet. Around it, more bodies were being placed in wooden coffins. Voldemort recognized some of them. Others he'd never seen before in his life. Oddly, one of the closed coffins was seven feet long and a foot wide. He didn't quite know what to make of that.

"What do we do with this one?" A wizard undertaker and his assistant were standing before the sheet-covered corpse, staring down at it with disgust.

"Put it in the debris bonfire. No way he's getting a proper burial," the undertaker answered his ward.

* * *

They had teleported again. The dining room at Malfoy manor. The room was barren, every bit of furniture had been taken away. The massive fireplace was unlit. Only a single figure's lantern illuminated the space.

A door opened, a light-haired woman peering in. "Lucius, the carriage is here."

Malfoy turned to his wife. He had a moustache, to show that time had passed. "Just a moment longer."

Narcissa walked over to her husband and clasped his hand. "We'll be back, some day."

"Seems increasingly unlikely, my dear." Lucius glanced around the room. "They'll have us locked up forever, if the Mudbloods have their way."

"Would you expect anything else?" Narcissa asked. "There are people in the Ministry who are going to put in a good word for us."

"Hooray," Lucius said, not sounding at all cheerful.

"It's not your fault, Lucius."

"No…" Malfoy said, turning to stare at the space formerly occupied by a throne. "It's his. Merry Christmas, Narcissa."

"Merry Christmas, Lucius."

* * *

They were gone from Malfoy Manor. Voldemort looked around, trying to get his bearings. When he'd traveled with the previous ghosts, the movement had been so gentle he hadn't noticed. The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come was far from gentle.

He recognized the place. "This is Little Hangleton Cemetery," Voldemort said, turning to the ghost. "Why have we come here?"

The ghost raised its hand and pointed. Voldemort followed the gesture to a solitary figure standing before a newly placed gravestone. He walked forwards, and scowled. "Potter."

Harry Potter stood before the grave, hands in pockets. He also had a moustache. He turned around and gestured to someone. "Ready, Ron!"

 _"Ok, clear the way!"_

Harry stepped away from the tombstone, which was suddenly illuminated by two lights. Seconds later, the tombstone was knocked from its stand by the bumper and grille of a blue Ford Anglia.

"Clean break!" Harry shouted, clapping his hands.

Voldemort glanced down at the tombstone, his fears answered as he read the name.

 **Thomas Marvolo Riddle**

"No!" Voldemort shouted, turning to the ghost. "Spirit! This cannot be my fate!"

The figure nodded its head.

"Spirit, if I were to change my ways, embrace the Christmas Spirit, what then? Would I find myself in this same situation?"

The figure was silent for a moment, then gave a somewhat ambiguous gesture with its head.

"I'm sorry, was that a yes or a no?"

The ghost did the same gesture.

"Alright, fine. If it means I may live, I'll do it! Just leave me be!"

* * *

"Leave me be!" Voldemort fell out of his chair, flailing in his sleep. Startled, he sat up. He was back in Malfoy Manor. Light was coming into the room through a gap in the curtains. He walked over and pulled them aside.

It was morning. Christmas Day, Voldemort noted. He pulled up the sash and stuck his head out. A house elf was below, shoveling snow from the terrace. "I say, what's your name?" Voldemort shouted.

"Honky, sir." the house elf replied, seemingly cowed by the figure above him.

"Honky, I want you to go to the nearest wizarding market and get me three of the biggest gooses you can get." He tossed some galleons down to the elf. If you do it within the hour, I won't have you fed to wild dragons for my amusement!"

"Right away, sir!"

"What to do, what to do?" Voldemort asked, pulling the window shut. "I must make amends."

* * *

Neville Longbottom was sleeping soundly in his bed when a loud crack startled him. The sight of the Dark Lord standing over him did little to calm him.

"V-" Neville shrieked. The Dark Lord clasped a hand over his mouth.

"Shh. I just wanted to say that I'm sort of sorry I had your parents tortured to insanity. I overreacted a little. Please take this free Christmas goose as a token of apology." He threw the dead bird into Neville's lap and vanished with another crack.

"What the fuck?" Neville said, glancing around him.

* * *

Harry was reading when he heard a small tap on the window next to him. Glancing over, he saw nothing. Shrugging, he went back to his book.

A second later, a large rock crashed through the window, landing on the common room table in a shower of broken glass and snow. Harry bolted towards the window and opened it, peering out into the snow.

"Hello, Potter!" He followed the voice and gasped as he saw Voldemort, standing by the Forbidden Forest like he owned the place. "Sorry about the window. I tried using pebbles, but you weren't answering."

"Tom, what the actual fuck are you doing here?" Harry shouted. "And how did you get onto Hogwarts school grounds?"

"Never mind that. I just wanted to say that, we've had our differences, and I know I killed your parents and several other people close to you, and ideally I'd also like to kill you, but as it's Christmas, I'd like to propose a truce! There'll be no assassination attempts until January 1st towards you or any of your friends and allies. Are we okay? Are we cool?"

"Are you serious? You are literally Wizard Hitler. This does not begin to fix things."

"I couldn't hear you over the wind, but thanks! Have this goose as further thanks."

Harry ducked as a large dead bird crashed through the window next to him. When he glanced outside, the Dark Lord was gone.

"Ok, it's official, this fic's gone off the rails."

* * *

Bulstrode Manor's dining room was packed, but a heavy silence hung over the room like a malevolent cloud, or a shart in a crowded elevator.

Lucius idly picked at his bowl of oatmeal, picking out the raisins ( _Narcissa knew he didn't like them, but every fucking time!_ ). He glanced over at the empty seat beside him and sighed. "Merry fucking Christmas to me."

Suddenly, there was a noise above them, the sound of footfalls on the roof. The guests glanced up, confused. Several Death Eaters pulled their wands. "Is it the Order?" Someone asked.

"Santa?" Another asked.

A second later, something came tumbling down the chimney.

Unfortunately for the intruder, the fire was lit. "Fuck! Someone put me out!"

Several Death Eaters cast _Aguamenti_ at the smoking figure, extinguishing the flames, but throwing smoke up into the room. When the soot and smoke cleared, they gasped at the sight. It was their Dark Lord, standing before them in a slightly singed, soaking wet Santa suit.

Oddly enough, he didn't look furious. At least, he looked less furious than usual.

"Merry Christmas, everyone!" Voldemort said, laughing. It was not a pretty laugh, and several of the Death Eater's fainted from pure shock.

"M-my Lord, what an unexpected honor," Bulstrode said, jumping up from the head of the table.

"My beloved followers, I have been a rather malevolent force this holiday season. It took three ghosts to show me the error of my ways. I bring gifts for all! The first, of course, being for my dear Malfoys."

Voldemort turned and pulled a wriggling sack from the fireplace. Upending it, he dumped a hogtied figure onto the dining room table, upsetting plates of bacon and eggs.

"Draco!"

Draco glanced up, eyes wide in confusion and terror. Voldemort pulled the sock out of his mouth. "Dear Draco, you have betrayed our cause, and for that, you must pay the price." The Dark Lord produced his wand.

"My Lord, no!" Narcissa prepared to jump in the way of the curse.

"-But not today." He cast a charm untying the boy. "Today is Christmas, and must be spent with loved ones. Consider this my one act of mercy."

Draco sat up, rubbing his hands. "Uh, thanks."

"No problem, have a goose."

"I'd rather not."

" _Take the fucking goose._ " Voldemort hissed, eyes glowing.

Draco took the fucking goose.

The Dark Lord chuckled, then turned to Lucius. "My dear friend, and devoted ally, I have one more gift for you." He produced a small box, wrapped in a bow. "Don't be shy, open it."

Lucius obeyed, undoing the ribbon and pulling off the lid. His eyes widened at what was inside. Before he could react, the adder shot out of the box and latched its fangs around the elder Malfoy's neck. The blonde-haired man fell to the ground, screaming.

"That's for calling me a bastard last night, you two-faced shit!" Voldemort laughed. He turned back to the stunned crowd. "Tomorrow, we go back to plotting Potter's death. For now, let's celebrate!"

And so they did. Even Lucius managed to enjoy himself, although he couldn't eat solid foods with his throat swollen shut from the adder venom.

Through a window, the tall hooded figure watched silently. A hand reached up and pulled off the hood. Vassago smiled at the image. "Well, how was that for a Christmas gift, Albus?"

He opened the cloak's front, revealing himself to be perched on the Headmaster's shoulders. The old wizard chuckled. "That was the best gift anyone could ask for, demon."

The apparition of Merope Gaunt appeared beside them. "Can I go back to Hell now?"

"Don't ruin the moment!" Vassago hissed.

Back inside, seated at the head of the table surrounded by the cheer his followers, Voldemort let himself smile. This, truly, was what the holidays were all about. Still, something was nagging at him, as though he'd forgotten something mildly important.

A second later, he stood up from his chair. _"Wormtail!"_

* * *

 _"Please..."_ Pettigrew gurgled. His words rang unheard through the empty house. _"Help..."_

* * *

 **I hope you all enjoyed this festive holiday tale. Let me tell you, it was a joy to write. There may be some more chapters posted before the New Year, although I will be vacationing in Colombia, so wi-fi may be spotty. If you are in Bogota or San Andres, and you see a six-foot-two, red-haired dude with a nasty sunburn, say hello. I'll probably look at you in confusion. If I do, then it might not be me, and you just spoke to a complete stranger. Hopefully, you aren't painfully shy, or that would be _Awwwkward._**


	13. Snape's Guilty Pleasure

**Looky here, another Christmas story! Please enjoy...**

* * *

 _"And you're sure this will work?"_

 _"Of course! What are the odds he's ever read Dickens?"_

Harry knocked on the ajar door. "Headmaster?"

" _Oh, damn, play it cool._ Come in, Harry!"

Harry entered the room to find the professor seated at his desk, reading an upside-down copy of _A Christmas Carol_. "Ah, Harry! What a pleasant surprise. You've caught me reading alone, here, in my office."

"Ok, and why is Vassago disguised as a floor lamp?"

"Is he? I hadn't noticed."

Vassago pulled the light bulb out of his mouth and smiled. "Hiya, Harry. You excited for the holidays?"

"Are you?" Harry asked. "I didn't think Christmas was your kind of thing."

"Are you kidding? Rampant consumerism and greed, Christmas is the shiiiiit!"

"What can I do for you, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

"I received my secret Santa assignment in the owl post this morning," Harry began, pulling a scrap of parchment from his pocket. "I was wondering if I could get reassigned."

"I'm afraid that isn't how secret Santa works, Harry," Dumbledore replied. Giving Harry an apologetic shrug.

"But, the person I'm supposed to give a gift to…"

"I'm sure that you'll find the perfect thing for him or her," Dumbledore responded.

"...I'm not sure I will."

"Don't think of it as a challenge, think of it as an adventure."

"...Right, thank you, Headmaster."

"No problem, please close the door behind you."

Harry left, crestfallen. As he shut the door, he heard Vassago whisper. " _Now, we'll need a very large cloak for Phase Three…_ "

" _I think Hagrid's got something… but how will we fit in it?_ "

At the bottom of the staircase, he looked back down at the parchment in his hands.

 _Severus Snape_

"Fuck."

* * *

"Malfoy…"

"Who is this Malfoy? My name is Mike Hunt! Oh, hello, Potter."

"I was wondering if you knew what Professor Snape likes."

Malfoy ran a finger through his Groucho Marx moustache. "Hmmm, that's tricky. I assume you've been given Snape for secret Santa."

"Correct. Who did you get?"

"Weasley. Do you know if he likes spiders?"

"He does not."

"Excellent! Now, Snape, let's see… to be honest, Harry, I don't have a clue."

"You must have some idea! He's your Head of House, your Godfather. Surely you've gotten gifts for him before."

"Yes, but he never seems to like anything. I bought him a self-stirring pewter cauldron last year, and he uses it to store dragon dung."

"What potion recipe needs dragon dung?"

"None that I know of. I think he just hated it."

"Great. Thanks for the help, Malfoy."

"No problem. Do you know anything else Ron doesn't like?"

* * *

Harry found Vassago in an empty classroom on the seventh floor. "Summoning something?" he asked, glancing down at the demon's pentagram.

"Yeah, it's something for Dumbledore. He and I are collaborating on a gift."

"Who's your mark?"

"Malfoy."

"I see. What does he want?"

"To see his family for Christmas."

"That's awfully nice of you, Vassago."

"Yeah, trouble is, our plan has gotten somewhat complex."

A second later, a split in reality tore through the center of the pentagram. Loud screams filled the room, and Harry had to clamp his hands over his ears. Vassago pulled up his sleeve and reached in, feeling around for something. He finally pulled a wriggling, translucent woman up from the tear, which quickly healed itself.

"Where am I?" the ghost asked, looking around.

"You Merope Gaunt?"

"Yes."

"Good, get in the ghost-proof sack."

Harry waited patiently until the demon was finished with his… business. "Vassago, I have no idea what I'm going to give Snape for Christmas."

Vassago rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Have you tried spying on him? When I want to learn someone's secrets, I watch their every movement. When they eat, when they sleep, when they're in the shower…"

"Have you ever spied on me in the shower?" Harry asked.

"Of course not!" the demon looked shocked. "On an unrelated note, you need to wash behind your ears more."

* * *

It was Christmas Eve, and Harry had been watching Snape for three days. In that time, he'd learned three things. One: that Snape was a Death Eater (suck it, Dumbledore!); Two: that Snape had a dartboard in the shape of Harry's face above his fireplace; and Three: that Snape was really, really boring."

Harry stifled a yawn under his Invisibility Cloak. Snape had spent the last three hours working on a jigsaw puzzle depicting the Goblin Rebellion of 1322. A minute later, he glanced up at the clock, which struck one, and yawned. He stood up and walked over to his Harry Potter dartboard and took it down from the wall, revealing a safe.

Harry leaned forward. Now we're getting somewhere.

Snape entered the combination and threw open the safe, pulling out several pieces of paper. Harry moved quietly forward, peering over the Potion Master's shoulder. What he saw made his jaw drop.

* * *

Harry kicked open the door to Dumbledore's office, causing Vassago to glance up from a crystal ball. "Harry, now's not a good time."

"Snape wants to fuck my mom!" Harry shouted, then he bent over and vomited on the floor.

"So I take it you read his fanfiction, too?"

"He keeps some of her hairs in a box under his bed!"

"That's really rough. I'd love to help you, Harry, but I'm kind of in the middle of something."

A white figure glided into the office through an open window. "He's ready for Phase Two, demon," Merope Gaunt's ghost said.

"Good." Vassago picked up a walkie-talkie. "Little Stinker to Big-D, mother has left the viper's nest. I repeat, mother has left the viper's nest. Commence phase two, over."

"Roger, Little Stinker. Phase Two is go, over."

Vassago put down the radio and glanced over at Harry. "It's a long story."

"I don't care."

"Ok, well, you don't have to be a dick about it."

* * *

"That's rough, buddy," Draco said, patting Harry on the back. The two were in the Hogwarts pantry, raiding Dobby's butterbeer stash.

"What am I going to do, Draco. All I've learned from spying on Snape is that he sucks and he's a prolific writer of slash fiction starring my mom."

"Well, obviously, your mother must have been rather important to Snape, in some fucked-up way," Draco said. "I heard dad say that he and your mum were oddly close during their school days."

"Oh, Merlin! Are you saying that he actually may have fucked my mom?"

"No," Draco said quickly. "I'm saying that clearly, she meant a lot to him."

Harry sighed, downing another bottle of butterbeer. "But how does that help me with Secret Santa?"

"Think about it, what does Snape really, really want?"

Suddenly, the door to the pantry was thrown open. "Malfoy! Thank god I found you! You need to get in this sack!" Vassago said, holding up a burlap bag.

"What? Why?"

"There's no time!" Vassago said, grabbing the Slytherin and stuffing him face-first into the sack. "Hey, Harry, you figured out what you're gonna get Snape yet?"

Harry thought for a moment, then smiled. "Yeah, I think I have."

* * *

Snape awoke to darkness. Someone had unplugged his Goblet of Fire nightlight. "Hello?" he called out, sitting up and fumbling for his wand.

"Severus."

The wall torches came up, illuminating the room. There, shining in the light, stood Lily Potter. Snape almost fell over.

"L-Lily."

"Merry Christmas, Severus," the apparition said, moving closer to the bed.

"Lily, I'm sorry," the emotions Snape had been holding in for so long came gushing forth. "I'm sorry for everything!"

"Severus," the ghost leaned over the bed. Snape fell back, wide-eyed in terror. She leaned in toward his ear. "I forgive you."

The lights cut out. Snape sat up and cast a Lumos. The room was empty. "Lily…" he said, tears running free for the first time since that night, sixteen years ago. "Thank you."

The door opened, and Lily popped her head in again. "By the way, as a favor, could you burn those stories you wrote about us? They're really, really fucking creepy."

"Uh, sure," Snape said, blushing. "Can I keep the hairs?"

"That is not up for discussion," Lily said flatly, before slamming the door shut.

Out in Snape's living room, 'Lily Potter' emptied the contents of Snape's safe into the fireplace. By the time she left Snape's rooms and reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, the Polyjuice had worn off.

"Wow, that was really pathetic," Harry said, collapsing in a chair. "Fuck secret Santa," he muttered. As he picked up one of his textbooks, he sighed. "I wonder who my secret Santa was."

A second later, a rock crashed through the window next to him.


	14. POLITICAL SATIRE

"How was your winter vacation, Harry?"

Harry glanced up at his two friends, freshly returned to Hogwarts from the bosom of their not-dead families. "Weird," he replied, remembering the goose.

"I know what you mean," Ron said, sitting down at the table and helping himself to a Big-Gulp-sized serving of pumpkin juice. "Someone sent me a box of spiders for Christmas."

Farther down the table, Malfoy pumped his fist. "Yes!"

"What was that, Mike?"

"Nothing. Oops, I mean, _nada_."

Hermione frowned and looked over at Harry. "Between you and me, I think something's wrong with Mike Hunt."

"Yes, something very fishy," Ron added.

"I think there's more to Mike Hunt than we know."

"Yes, a surprising amount of depth, perhaps."

"Enough crude humor," Harry said, pushing a copy of the Daily Prophet across the table. "Have you seen the news?"

Hermione glanced down at the headline. " _Scrimgeour receives vote of no confidence. Snap election to be held_."

"Yes, I can read it for myself, Hermione," Ron snapped churlishly.

"Ron, everyone knows you can't read."

"I _don't_ read. There's a difference."

Hermione set down the paper. "Just what we need, more instability in the Ministry of Magic. Who do you think will win the election?"

"It's still too early to tell. So far Scrimgeour is running unopposed," Harry replied.

"Really?"

"Well, who'd be stupid enough to run for Minister of Magic? It's like having a giant 'Kill Me' sign painted on your back."

"Mr. Potter," a hand grabbed Harry by the back of the shirt and pulled him to his feet. It was Snape. "The headmaster and the demon wish to speak to you."

Harry sighed and left his friends, Snape following close behind. Hermione and Ron watched them go. "Snape's been acting really odd lately," Ron said.

"Yes, remember how angry he was when Katie Bell got cursed by that necklace meant for Dumbledore?"

"...Not really."

"Oh, nevermind, then."

* * *

"Harry!" Dumbledore stood up from his desk the moment the Boy-Who-Lived entered the office. Vassago stood behind him, looking grave. "We have a situation in the Ministry."

"I know, Scrimgeour's running for reelection. I read the paper."

"That was the morning edition, here's the midday paper," the demon tossed Harry the newest edition of the Prophet."

" _Surprise challenger to Scrimgeour's position._ "

"Yes, I can read it for myself, Headmaster."

"Just trying to be helpful."

"What's so bad about this?"

Vassago stepped over to the fireplace and grabbed a handful of Floo powder from a pot. "It'd be better for you and the reader if we showed you."

* * *

Harry tumbled headfirst into the Ministry of Magic atrium. He hadn't seen it since the fight the previous spring. They still hadn't gotten the bloodstains off the marble. A stage had been set up in the center of the hall, with two empty podiums upon it. A crowd of wizards, politicians and reporters were seated before the stage.

"Welcome to the first Minister of Magic election debates," a familiar voice said. "I am Lee Jordan, junior correspondent for the Wizarding Wireless, and with me is Celestina Warbeck from Witch Weekly-"

"Hello, dahlings."

"-and Luna Lovegood, representing the Quibbler."

"Prawn salad."

"What?"

"Sorry, I was just ordering my lunch," Luna glanced back over from the waiter. "Happy to be here with all of the Nargles and esteemed guests."

"...Right. It is time to meet our two candidates. Representing the Stability Party ticket, please welcome Rufus Scrimgeour." There was a light smattering of applause as the lion-maned incumbent Minister took the first podium.

"Second, we have Representative Tom Riddle, Jr., representing the newly-formed Kill All The Muggles Party."

Harry, who had accepted a goblet of champagne from a waiter, promptly spat it out in an unfortunate witch's face. "Riddle?"

The second candidate took the podium. "Lovely to be here, scum," Voldemort said. At least, Harry was somewhat sure it was Voldemort. The giant fake beard and eyepatch made it somewhat hard to tell.

"Now then, it is time for opening remarks, you each have a minute to state your core values, or, being politicians, your lack thereof. Minister Scrimgeour, you may go first,"

"Thank you, Jordan." The Minister straightened up and faced the audience. "Witches and Wizards of the press and public, in these dark times…"

* * *

Harry was prodded forcefully by Vassago. "Huh, what?"

"You were snoring," the demon replied.

"Oh, how long was I out?"

"...Thank you," Scrimgeour finished his speech and sat down.

"Oh, uh, thank you, Minister, for the speech, even if it went a full twenty minutes longer than scheduled. Mr. Riddle, you may speak now."

"Thank you, Muggle Filth," Voldemort said. "We are facing a dark time in the Wizarding World. The Muggleborn are outnumbering the Pureblood voting block by three to one, and the streets of Wizarding communities are filled with these lowlife riff-raff. These Muggleborns are entering our society unchecked, and they are bringing with them crime, drugs, they're murderers, rapists, and some I assume are good people. I was there when the Ministry of Magic was attacked last year, and I remember seeing thousands of Muggleborn cheering in the streets. We need to strengthen our community by removing these un-wizardly individuals, thereby giving sensible Purebloods better job opportunities and prosperity. Let us make Wizarding Britain great again."

A chorus of cheers erupted from the corner of the room, where several dozen skull-masked individuals gave a standing ovation.

"Very… interesting words from candidate Riddle. Now, let us begin with the debate proper, our first question…"

"Is it true you are actually Voldemort in disguise!" Harry shouted from the back of the room.

"That wasn't my question, but I'll roll with it. Mr. Riddle, how do you respond."

"If I may speak," One of the Death Easters removed his mask, revealing Lucius Malfoy in a mustache and 'Make Wizarding Britain Great Again' trucker hat. "The Dark Lord would never resort to such debasing measures as disguising himself and running for public office, would you, My Lord?"

"...Um, nope," Riddle replied.

"I rest my case."

* * *

Harry, Dumbledore and Vassago retreated to the Ministry canteen for gin and biscuits. "How does he expect to win the election with such anti-Muggle rhetoric?" Harry asked.

"Believe it or not, he's currently ahead in the polls," Vassago said, studying a set of polling results.

"What? How can the public support such overt racism?"

"They appear to be ignoring it," Vassago said. "Candidate Riddle is for building a wall to keep Muggleborns out of Diagon Alley, but he is also campaigning for looser business regulations, stronger tariffs against the French, and a stronger Wizard military, things the more conservative members of the Wizarding Community are for."

"But that doesn't make any sense."

"Does politics ever make sense?" Dumbledore asked, stirring his gin thoughtfully.

"Plus, Scrimgeour is a wet fish. He's incompetent, which gives him some advantage politically, but he's boring and cold. People seem to like when Riddle makes mistakes, lies, or casts a killing curse on a reporter. It makes him seem fallible, human."

"We have to stop him," Harry said.

"Well, there is one way," Vassago replied, "but you aren't going to like it."

* * *

" _Potter joins Ministry race! Boy-Who-Lived to challenge Riddle/Scrimgeour._ "

"Will you stop reading the headlines out loud?" Harry snapped.

"Sorry, Harry," Hermione lowered the paper. "Are you sure you can do this? You're awfully young to be Minister of Magic."

"Apparently there's a loophole in election law that if you throw enough money at the Wizengamot, you can do anything," Harry replied, "Which does explain a lot about the Wizarding World, now that I think about it."

Ron approached the library table and sat down. "Morning, Harry, Hermione."

"Ron, what the fuck are you wearing?" Hermione asked, eyes wide in horror.

Ron glanced up at his trucker hat. "What? Dad got it from work."

"Is your dad supporting Riddle?"

"He says he's going to make conditions better for the working-class Purebloods," Ron said defensively.

"Ron, he's Voldemort!" Harry hissed angrily.

Ron shrugged. "Yeah, but, jobs."

"Well, I'm for you Harry, all the way," Hermione said.

"Fantastic, that just leaves 51% of the Wizarding World."

"Well, so long as you behave with honesty and compassion, I'm sure things will turn out for the best."

"...You don't know much about politics, do you, Hermione?"

* * *

"Mr. Potter, is it true you rape babies?"

Harry, who until then had been enjoying a relatively peaceful afternoon in Hogsmeade, recoiled at the reporter. "What? No!"

"So there's no truth to Riddle's campaign ads?"

"What campaign ads?"

The reporter gestured to a billboard above Honeyduke's:

 **A VOTE FOR POTTER IS A VOTE FOR A PEDOPHILE!**

 _-Paid for by Death Eaters for_ _Voldemort_ _Tom Riddle_

Under it was a badly edited image of Harry in the doorway of a windowless van, one hand beckoning. "Oh, goddammit," Harry muttered. "Who taught him Photoshop?"

* * *

 _"Mr. Riddle, Harry Potter has accused you of spreading false facts to the public."_

 _"I prefer to think of them as 'alternative truths'."_

 _"...So, lies."_

 _"No, the truth, from a certain perspective."_

 _"...The wrong perspective?"_

 _"Look, this is all just fake news spread by Potter. Are you going to believe him? He rapes babies."_

 _"So you say."_

 _"I didn't say that."_

 _"You just did."_

 _"No more comments._ Avada Kedavra!"

Harry switched off the wireless and collapsed into a chair. The Ministry had given him an office from which to run his campaign. Unfortunately, they'd placed it right next to 'Riddle's'. Through the open door, Harry watched as Voldemort swept past, followed by several Death Eaters dragging a heavy sack that appeared to be leaking jam.

"Don't let him piss you off, Harry," Vassago said. "You're the Boy-Who-Lived, not the Boy-Who'll-Lose."

A brick crashed through the window behind Harry's desk. " _BABY RAPER_!" a voice shouted from the street.

"Ignore that." Vassago walked over to the window, grabbed a hand grenade from a bucket, and chucked it out. There was an explosion, followed by screams. "There, Voldemort is now down… three points."

" _My leg! I've lost my leg!_ "

"Three-and-a-quarter."

"Stop killing redneck wizards," Harry snapped. "I told you I wanted to win this election fairly."

"Harry, this is politics. You don't play fair. Look where that's got you so far. Look at Scrimgeour!"

"Where is Scrimgeour?"

"Who gives a fuck?" Vassago shouted. "You need three things to win an election: a winning smile, a firm handshake, and no soul or moral integrity whatsoever. Voldemort's got you beat on two of those, but have you seen his dental work?"

"I'm afraid he's right, Harry," Dumbledore had entered the room, and was stuffing his pockets with lemon drops from a cup on Harry's desk.

"Really? What happened to the triumph of the light?"

"Harry, do you think I became head of the Wizengamot by not sleeping with half the house?"

"Wasn't the Wizengamot all male back then?"

"...Yep."

* * *

"Welcome to the second Minister of Magic electoral debate. We shall start with Mr. Potter."

"Hey, what about me?" Scrimgeour asked.

"What _about_ you?" Lee asked loathingly.

"...Fair point."

"Thank you, Lee. Voters, I would like to expose a fraud in this debate. The individual you know as Mr. Riddle is not who he says he is. He is none other than, Lord Voldemort!"

"Outrageous!" Riddle spoke up. "I've never heard such lies in my life. If you open your mouth one more time, Potter, I shall beat you to within an inch of your pathetic life."

" _Accio fake beard_!"

Voldemort grabbed the artificial face rug before it could escape. "Oh no you don't!" The force of the spell dragged the Dark Lord across the stage, crashing him into Potter and knocking them both to the ground.

"Unhand me, you wretched boy!"

"Get your hand off my calf!"

 _"MOOOO!"_

"You want it, snake eyes? You can have it!"

"Folks, it appears that Potter and Riddle are beating the hell out of each other using fists, bats, and small livestock. Celestina, have you ever seen such unprofessional behavior in your life?"

"Well, I had to sleep with several wizards to get my recording contract, so no."

 **"SOCIAL COMMENTARY,"** Luna added in all caps.

* * *

It was election night, and Harry's office was packed full of well-wishers. Vassago walked over to the boy and clapped him on the shoulder. "I hear things are going to be pretty close, Harry."

"I have faith in the system," Harry replied. "I believe that the voters have made the right choice. Isn't that right, everyone?"

The room fell silent. "Oh shit," Hermione muttered. "I forgot to vote."

"Is that what we were supposed to do today?" Hagrid asked.

"Shit, I'd marked it on my calendar and everything."

"Okay, hold on a second!" Harry slammed his fist on the desk. "Did anyone here actually vote today?"

"I did," Ron said, raising a hand. "For Riddle."

Harry launched himself across the desk and into the youngest Weasley boy, tackling him to the floor. "I'm going to shove that stupid fucking hat down your throat, you Flanderized white-trash idiot!"

* * *

" _Riddle wins in a landslide! Elderly, racist bloc accounts for 99% of_ popular _vote_ \- hey, I was reading that!" Hermione protested. Harry crumpled the Prophet into a ball and threw it across the empty office.

"Well, we're fucked, aren't we?" Harry asked.

"And we haven't even gotten to the part where Snape kills Dumbledore," Vassago replied, shaking his head.

"What?"

"This isn't over yet," Dumbledore said, sweeping into the office like a polka-dotted angel.

"But we lost the popular vote."

"That means nothing," Dumbledore said, waving the notion away. "Everyone knows that's just a trick to make the public think they're votes actually mean something."

"So, what happens now, then?"

"The Wizengamot votes, and whoever gets the most votes is the Minister."

"When's the vote?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"So we have to convince more than half of a group of backward, out-of-touch nobles to make the right choice?" Harry asked.

"Correct."

"We're doomed."

"Not to worry, my boy, I have a plan."

"Does it involve sleeping with the Wizengamot in exchange for votes?" Harry asked. "Because if so, I'd rather lose."

"...I have _two_ plans. But you aren't going to like the second one."

* * *

"The Wizengamot shall not vote to determine the next Minister of Magic," the speaker of the house announced to the seated witches and wizards. "Before we begin, however, I believe the esteemed Headmaster Dumbledore has something to say."

"Yes, thank you." The elderly wizard stood up in his seat. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Wizengamot, I am afraid I have some deeply unsettling news to share. It has come to my attention that both Mr. Potter and Mr. Riddle are Halfbloods."

There was a flurry of whispers in the room. "What does that mean?"

"Do any of you recall Article VII of the _Wizengamot Electoral Guidelines_?"

Dead silence.

"No one? None of you have read the rules?"

"We've skimmed it!" Augusta Longbottom shouted from her chair.

"Well, thankfully I have, because under Article VII, to be a viable candidate for Minister of Magic, you must be Pureblood, an unfortunately racist rule that has, for the most part, been forgotten about."

"...So, what does that mean?"

Dumbledore rolled his eyes. "It means that both Riddle and Potter must be disqualified from the race."

"What!" Voldemort shot up from his seat so fast his beard and eyepatch fell off. "This is an outrage!"

"Holy shit, it's the Dark Lord!" someone shouted. Gasps filled the chamber

"Oh, bugger," Voldemort turned to Harry. "You may have won this fight, Potter-"

"Did I? We both lost the election," Harry replied tartly.

"-but don't count on you luck not running out anytime soon! I will destroy you, someday!"

The doors to the chamber were kicked open. "Freeze, Wizard Cops, motherfuckers!" Tonks yelled, training her wand on Voldemort.

"Oh dear, look at the time, have to run." With that, the Dark Lord apparate out of the room, leaving a stunned Wizengamot in his wake.

The speaker of the house regained his composure. "Well, I guess that with Messrs. Potter and Riddle out of the running, the election goes to Rufus Scrimgeour."

There was a long silence as the hall redirected their attention to the incumbent. "Hooray?" Scrimgeour suggested.

"HOORAY!"

* * *

"Well, all's well that ends well," Vassago said, leaning back against the headmaster's desk and lighting a cigarette.

"I just wasted three months campaigning for an election I was destined to lose, the government is still as incompetent as ever, and Voldemort is still out there trying to kill me. How is this a positive outcome?" Harry asked.

"...You've learned an important lesson on civic duty?"

"Fuck off."


	15. Curtain Call

**I rewrote and expanded this chapter. I made a mess of it originally, and this will hopefully make things easier to understand. Or will it? I don't fucking know.**

* * *

"Why are we here?"

"A good question, Harry," Ron said, scratching his chin. "What is our purpose in life? Are we truly free-willed individuals, or does fate and vaguely-worded prophecies choose our path for us?"

"That was surprisingly deep, Ron, but why are we here, all gathered together in the Great Hall?"

"Oh, I dunno. We were all told to come."

"By who?"

"By me!" the hall went dark, and a single spotlight illuminated the staff table, where Vassago sat in Dumbledore's chair. He was dressed oddly: a loose shirt with a silk cravat, jodhpurs, and a black beret. In one hand was an old-fashioned megaphone, which he held to his mouth. "Welcome, Sixth Years, to drama club!"

"Oh, no," Harry muttered.

Vassago stood and waved a hand. The staff table and chairs were whisked magically off the stage, as red velvet curtains descended behind the demon. "Yes, Dumbledore requested that I try and create some inter-house cooperation among you, so I decided to put on a play, and you all are the stars!"

"Even me?" Neville asked.

"No, you're set design."

"And me?" Millicent Bulstrode asked.

"Costumes."

"And me?" a Ravenclaw asked.

"Hair and makeup. Ok, correction: not all of you are the stars. There will be tryouts, limited to primary and secondary characters only."

"Am I a secondary character?"

"Sally-Anne Perks, if you need to ask that question, then the answer is no. Now, get the fuck out of my auditorium!"

A Hufflepuff lowered her hand and trudged out of the hall, head hung low.

"So what's the play?" Hermoine asked.

"I'm glad you asked. Unfortunately, I am only the director. You will have to ask the playwrights. Boys, come on out and introduce yourselves."

The curtain behind Vassago parted slightly, and two very, very old men emerged. "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Hello!"

"My name is George St. Geeglund-" the taller one said.

"-And I am Gil Faizon, charmed I'm sure," the shorter, shabbier one added.

"And we are two wizards from the Upper West side of Manhattan-"

"-Which, to the rest of Manhattan, is the earwax-flavored Bertie Bott's bean of the box."

"We have a great show for you pubescent freaks. A taste of a different kind of magic: the magic of BrudWAY!"

"Don't you mean Broadway?" Hermione asked.

"You might have trouble understanding our strong New York City accents."

"...Is that a New York City accent?"

"HUSH!" St. Geegland shouted, waving a store-bought licorice wand over the students. "Now, for those of you unfamiliar with us or with Broadway, it's all about pizazz-"

"-and screaming," Gil continued. "Modern theater is mostly screaming."

"As well as other tips and tricks of the trade, which we will demonstrate! For starters, entering the stage through a prop door."

"Ah, yes! Very important!" St. Geegland said. A prop door slid on stage, stopping beside him. "All characters in a Broadway play have to enter a door as dramatically as possible. Really fucking ham it up! If you don't enter a room like Kramer enters Jerry's apartment, then you can get right the fuck out."

"But back to the performance. We will be sampling from many of Broadway's biggest hits, such as _Showboat_."

"You know," St. Geegland interjected. "I once pushed my fourth wife off a boat, but she swam back to shore. So I threw her in again, but she swam to shore gain. Well, you know what they say, third time she drowns."

"Another play we will be sampling from is Nathan Lane's 2013 play _The Nance_."

"You know, for four years, Gil underwent a sex change and became Ms. Nancy Faizon."

"Yeah, but it grew back," Gil said remorsefully. "A medical miracle."

"The healers at St. Mungo's Cedar-Sinai called it a medical nightmare. Anyway, enough about my last prostate exam, let's discuss the play itself…"

* * *

"This play makes no sense," Ron said, thumbing through the script.

"I know, it keeps going off in tangents,' Harry said, "Like the part in scene five where we stop the action to criticize Alan Alda's restraining order for ten minutes."

"Alright, people, places. Rehearsal is starting!" Vassago shouted through his megaphone.

The stage went dark. Then, the lights came up, illuminating a kitchen set stolen from A Raisin in the Sun.

"Paul enters stage left, takes off coat. What's for dinner?" Ron said, entering the stage.

"CUT!" Vassago stomped forwards. "Ron, you're not supposed to read the stage directions."

"Then how will people know that I'm entering the stage and taking off my coat?"

"They'll see you performing the actions."

"Oh, right."

"Ok, places people. Let's continue from where we left off."

Ron shook himself off and then continued to the kitchen table. "I'm starving, we got any tuna left?"

At that moment, horns erupted, and a winch lowered a grotesquely overstuffed tuna sandwich onto the kitchen table.

"Ha!" Gil and George entered stage right. "You are so fucking stupid!" George laughed. "What do you think of the sandwich?"

"...It's a lot of tuna."

"Too much tuna, more like it!" Gil laughed. "That joke never gets old."

While the two demented old wizards laughed at Ron's predicament, Vassago came up to Harry. "You seem upset, Harry."

"It's my part."

"Yes, the scene from Equus! I had you cast explicitly for it. What's the matter?"

"Well, the stage direction says I'm supposed to be nude."

"Yes?"

"I can't do that."

"Well, you know Daniel Radcliffe did it just fine on the West End."

"Yeah, but he's a terrific actor."

"Is he, though? He's got a limited range, plus he's been typecast."

"Many people have broken typecasting. Look at Matthew McConaughey."

Vassago paled. "Are you comparing Daniel Radcliffe to Matthew McConaughey?" he whispered, eyes glowing.

"...Yes."

"Matthew McConaughey is ten times the actor you'll ever be, you little one-hit wonder!" Vassago screamed, before stomping offstage, pausing only to kick Neville Longbottom several times.

"That was a bit overdramatic," Harry muttered.

"That's theater, kid," George St. Geeglund said, coming over and patting Harry on the back.

"Why are your hands wet?"

"I'm having a hot flash."

"...What?"

* * *

"Do you three know why I've called you three to my office?" Dumbledore asked, rubbing his face with one hand. He looked especially haggard this evening.

"Look, she told me she was eighteen!" George St. Geeglund shouted.

"...No. I'm here because there have been several complaints lodged by parents against the play you are putting on."

"WHAT COMPLAINTS?"

"Put the megaphone down, Vassago."

"Sorry. What complaints?"

"Vassago, did you scream abuse at Padma Patil for ten minutes yesterday?"

"Ok, she does not know how to do costumes. I asked for Victorian era, and she gave me Regency!"

"Did you threaten to bury Cho Chang alive next to her dead boyfriend if she didn't, and I quote, 'Stop corpsing on stage'."

"I expect a degree of professionalism," Vassago said. "Sue me."

"That would be bad enough, but I've read the script as well," Dumbledore thumbed his copy over to a certain page. "I've counted seventeen uses of the C-word, and that's in the first act alone."

"We're looking for honest, gritty dialogue," Gil Faizon said.

"Well, I want it out off the play."

"Fair enough," George said.

"We can take criticism pretty well," Gil added.

"You gotta in showbiz."

"Also, the Alan Alda tirade has to go," Dumbledore continued.

"WHAT?! THIS IS AN OUTRAGE!" George had grabbed Vassago's megaphone. He then smashed the instrument on the floor. "I will not be insulted by someone who doesn't understand art when he sees it. Gil, break that chair over the desk!" Gil obliged, smashing Dumbledore's desk in half with it. "We are leaving, and we will tilt every portrait we see on the way out!" They exited the room with middle fingers extended, Gil pausing to kick over a bust of John Dee.

"Well, fuck," Vassago said. "I take it the play is off?"

Dumbledore nodded.

"May I be dismissed?" Vassago asked, rising from his chair.

"No. We need to discuss some things," Dumbledore stood up, then moaned, clutching the side of his ruined desk for support.

"Albus, what did you do?" Vassago strode forward and caught the Headmaster before he could fall. The demon's gaze fell to Dumbledore's right hand. "The ring!" He grabbed the Horcrux and threw it across the room. "You fucking idiot! You've ruined everything!"

"...I just wanted to see her again." Dumbledore coughed up a load of blood and fell over.

"I'll get Snape. Don't you fucking die on me before the climax, old man!"

* * *

The infirmary doors opened, and Snape loped out into the hall. Vassago looked up from a copy of Everyday Magic, then shot to his feet. "How is he?"

"He's dying," Snape replied.

"Take me to him."

"That is inadvisable-" Snape began, but was interrupted as Vassago pushed past him into the hospital wing.

Dumbledore lay in a cot in the far end of the massive hall. In such a defenseless position, he looked terribly old.

"Did you see her?" Vassago asked.

There was a long silence. "No," Dumbledore whispered.

"Then you've killed yourself for nothing."

"I'm not dead yet," Dumbledore snapped. He tried to sit up but failed miserably.

"The curse will spread to your heart in weeks. You'll be lucky to live to the House Cup ceremony."

Dumbledore gazed out the window by his bedside. It was raining. "What did you mean in the Ministry of Magic?"

Vassago frowned in confusion. "What?"

"I've seen pensieves of the night. You told Tom that you'd collect what was owed." He turned to Vassago, and the demon flinched from the hard gaze of those blue eyes. "Tell me."

Vassago paced around the cot a few times. "You already know, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Another of those stolen memories you gaze into in your spare time?" Dumbledore nodded. "Have you told him?"

"I wasn't going to."

"You thought you'd be here to steer him right, to save him. What now, old man?"

"He has a right to know."

"What about your secrets?" Vassago shot back, leaning over the old man. "You show mine, and I'll show yours."

Dumbledore shook his head. "You won't tell him." His eyes shone with conviction. "Despite your meddling and your inane distractions, you want the same outcome to this war that I do."

Vassago narrowed his eyes. Steam rose from his nostrils. Suddenly the demon loomed large, a monster on the verge of chaos, like a dragon with IBS. "So you'll play your end game?"

Dumbledore nodded. "I trust you'll see fit to let the events play out as originally written."

"Once you're cold and six feet under, all bets are off."

"Fine, then to echo your theater jargon, let's draw the curtains on Act VI."

* * *

 **The End is coming. Let's face it, things have been far too silly. This whole story got away from me, really. It's time to bring the plot back, with a vengeance.**


	16. Obfuscation and Revelation

"Can you believe it's already May?" Hermione remarked as the trio strolled along the lakeside between classes

"What?" Harry halted in his tracks. "How is that possible?"

"Yeah, it's like we managed to reach the end of the school year with little to no plot development," Ron mused.

"I assume the year will be fleshed out further in the rewrite," Hermione explained.

"Wait, are we all suddenly self-aware that we're in a fanfic?" Ron asked.

"Don't think about it," Harry advised. "Oh, look, there's Dumbledore."

The Headmaster was striding across the lawn towards them, a frown creasing his usually-jolly face. "Good afternoon, children."

"Good afternoon, Headmaster. What's wrong with your hand?"

"Never mind that, my boy," Dumbledore said, tucking his withered limb into his robe pocket and patting Harry's shoulder with the other. "I must talk to you about some grave information."

Harry turned to his friends. "Sorry, guys. Order business."

"Alright, we'll see you later."

"Actually, before you two go," Dumbledore said, stepping in front of Ron and Hermione. "I have a task for you two. I need you both to go stake out the room of requirement. Be sure to notify McGonagall if you see anything suspicious."

"Like what?"

"You know, students misbehaving, Death Eaters, werewolves, that sort of thing."

* * *

"The Pensieve?" Harry asked, stepping up towards the basin. "What are we looking at this time, Voldemort's Yule Ball?"

"No, this is something more important," Dumbledore said, swirling the water in the bowl and pushing Harry's head down before he had the chance to take a breath.

* * *

 _"Why did you save me?" Harry asked._

 _"I didn't save you. Not yet, at least. I've just called 'time out' for a little halftime show. Vassago gestured to Harry's coffee cup. In the reflection, Harry could see the graveyard. He and Voldemort were still locked in battle; Cedric's body lay between them with the Tri-Wizard Cup._

 _"Cedric," Harry said suddenly. "Can you save him, too?"_

 _"Who?" Vassago asked, then smiled and remembered. "Oh, yeah, the Hufflepuff, right? Older, more handsome and charming and all-around more brilliant than you? Unfortunately, he's already moved on to the Great Upstairs. There's no bringing people back from the dead. Too much paperwork."_

* * *

 _"Hello, Sirius."_

 _"Harry! What brings you to_ _floo-call me in the middle of the night?"_

 _"I was just wondering if we'd be able to spend Christmas together?"_

 _"Sorry, Harry. The Order is having me go out to Albania, to follow a lead on Voldemort's activities there."_

 _"Alright. It's just that I never get to see you. We've barely hung out since the summer."_

 _"I know, pup. We'll meet soon, I promise."_

 _"How about Valentine's Day?"_

 _"Uh, sorry. I have a date."_

 _"St. Patrick's Day?"_

 _"I'll be too busy lying in a gutter in Dublin all that week."_

 _"Easter?"_

 _"I'm Jewish."_

 _"Well, then. When you're free, just give me a Floo."_

 _"Sure thing, pup."_

OOOOOOOO

Harry pulled his head from the Pensieve, gasping for air. "Did you find that illuminating, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, stepping forwards.

"...Not really."

"Well, all will be revealed in time." He grabbed Harry's arm. "Now come, we're running out of time."

* * *

"So, are we together now?"

Hermione popped her head back behind the tapestry she and Ron had been hiding under for the last hour and gave Ron a confused look. "Together?"

"Well, yeah. I've been reading the book, and it says we're supposed to be dating by this point."

"Ron, honestly, you are a two-dimensional parody of a man. I need someone a little more fleshed out, if you know what I mean."

"But I'm a grower, not a show-er."

"Not what I meant at all, Ron."

"Shhh!" Ron put a hand over Hermione's mouth. "Did you hear footsteps."

The two Gryffindor's peered out cautiously. A small figure had just finished pacing back and forth in front of the door to the Room of Requirement. After looking around for any sign of surveillance, the figure opened the door and went through.

"Who was that?" Ron asked.

"I'm not sure, I didn't recognize them."

"Should we run to McGonagall?"

"Let's not jump the gun. For all we know, the kid could've just been looking for a place to masturbate."

A moment later, the mysterious figure emerged from the Room of Requirement. He was not alone. "Is that Fenrir Greyback?" Ron asked.

"Shit," Hermione whispered. "We need to get out of here without being detected."

The werewolf froze, perking up his ears. "We're being watched."

"Fuck, run!"

* * *

"Why are we going to the Astronomy Tower?" Harry asked, peering back down the spiral staircase.

"We need a quiet, dramatic place to talk."

They reached the top of the stairs. Harry walked to the side of the tower and peered over the battlements. "So, what's this about?" he asked, turning back to Dumbledore. "You're obfuscating more than usual."

"Harry, I'm dying."

"...Oh."

"I was cursed by one of Tom's Horcruxes."

"What the fuck is a Horcrux?"

"A piece of Riddle's soul trapped in a vessel. He has at least seven Horcruxes, rendering him effectively immortal."

"So how am I supposed to kill him?"

A match flared up in the shadows. "You'll have to die."

Harry and Dumbledore spun in surprise. "So you've predicted my move, demon," the Headmaster said.

"This is the right time and place," Vassago said, pausing to consult a large paperback fantasy novel. He snapped the book shut and tossed it over the edge of the tower. "Harry, Dumbledore expects you to die."

"What?" Harry stepped back, bumping against the battlement. "You're joking. Dumbledore, tell me he's joking."

"I was hoping you'd learn the truth after I was gone," Dumbledore said. "To clarify Vassago's statement, there is a piece of Voldemort's soul lodged inside of you. You've had it ever since that Halloween night sixteen years ago."

"I'm a Horcrux?"

"Nice use of vocab," Vassago said, clapping sarcastically.

Harry thought back to the prophecy. "Neither can die while the other half lives," he whispered. A moment later, he drew his wand, pointing it at the Headmaster. "You knew this entire time!"

Dumbledore raised his hands. "Harry, let me explain."

"I don't want to hear it! I trusted you, in spite of your lies, in spite for your manipulations. I thought you were doing it all because you were helping me, but you were preparing me for sacrifice!"

"That's not true, Harry."

Vassago waggled his head. "It's half-true."

"You're not helping."

"Shut up, both of you!" Harry shouted, lowering the wand and wiping tears from his eyes. "This isn't how things were supposed to go!"

"Harry, death is inevitable. It is coming for me, and it will come for you. We must welcome it; it is for the greater good."

"Fuck the greater good!" Harry saw the Headmaster going for his wand. " _Expelliarmus._ " Dumbledore's wand flew into his other hand. "I want to live! I deserve to live! Sixteen years of bullshit! Do you know what I went through, living with the Dursleys?" He rolled his eyes. "What am I saying? Of course you knew. You know everything!"

"Not everything." Three heads turned towards the tower stairway. A rainbow haired figure stood at the top of the stairs.

Dumbledore frowned in confusion. "I'm sorry, young man, have we met?"

"For the love of…" Draco pulled off the wig and glasses. "It's me, asshole."

"Draco!"

"Don't move a muscle," Draco said, stepping forwards. "This ends tonight."

"Draco, what the fuck?" Harry demanded.

"Draco, please," Dumbledore said.

"Please what?" Malfoy replied.

"Don't kill me."

Draco tilted his head, giving Dumbledore an odd look. "I'm not trying to kill you, Headmaster. I'm trying to save you."

"From who?" Harry asked.

"From him," Draco said, pointing his wand to the shadows behind Harry.

Snape lowered his wand and smiled thinly. "Well, Malfoy, seems you really have lost your edge."

"Professor Snape is trying to kill Dumbledore?" Harry said. "I did not see that coming!"

"I did!" Vassago said, waving his hands merrily. Three wands turned and aimed at him. "I'll just stay quiet."

"Draco, step aside," Snape demanded, turning the wand back to his godson. "I don't want to do anything rash."

"I can't let you kill Dumbledore," Draco said, stepping forwards.

"Oh, you shag Potter a few times and suddenly you're Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes?" Snape asked, smirking. "What you're doing is stupid."

"What I'm doing is right!" Draco replied. With a wave of his wand, he disarmed the professor. "I have spent this entire year trying to discover what my purpose is, and I think I've found it."

"I don't remember you mentioning any of this in the past year."

"Yeah, a lot of things got cut from the final draft."

"Rewrites are pending," Vassago said.

All the figures were suddenly aware of battles noises wafting up from the castle below. "Well, sounds like my friends have arrived," Snape said, his smile curling to Grinch-like proportions. "This day keeps getting better and better."

In ten steps Draco had closed the gap between him and the Potions Professor and had jammed his wand into Snape's jugular. "I'm going to wipe that stupid smirk off your greasy face," Draco said.

"Draco, you can't kill Severus!" Dumbledore protested, feebly trying to rise from the floor.

"I have to!" Draco shot back.

"Killing him won't bring you into the Light."

"I'm not doing what the Light wants me to do," Draco shot back.

"Yeah, Draco. Fuck the greater good!" Harry shouted, pumping his fist.

"Then kill Dumbledore," Snape said.

"I'm not doing what the Dark wants to do either-" Draco snarled.

 _"Yeah, fuck Snape!"_

"-and I'm not doing what Harry wants! I'm doing what Malfoy wants! I'm choosing my own destiny!"

"Draco…" Snape began.

"By killing one, I save a thousand," Draco said.

There was a long silence. "What?" Dumbledore and Snape asked in unison.

"I dunno, I thought it sounded meaningful," Draco explained. He aimed his wand back at Snape. "This ends now. _Avada-_ "

" _-Kedavra_!" A trail of green light shot out from the tip of a wand, striking the Headmaster. Dumbledore grasped his chest, letting out a tortured breath for maximum dramatic effect, and fell over, dead. Stunned, everyone turned to face the caster of the spell, who hitherto had kept his presence unknown.

"Who the fuck is that?" Draco and Harry said in unison.

"A killer twist, that's who!" the killer stepped forwards. "Will Fagan subverts expectations!" the first year shouted, jumping in the air and clicking his heels. "Enjoy part three, bitches. I'm out!"

With that, he turned and swan-dived off the astronomy tower before anyone could stop him.

Harry ran to the edge and peered over. The first year's body lay several hundred feet below, limbs bent at odd angles. Harry turned back to the group. "Okay, was anyone expecting that?" No one said anything. Harry then noticed the doorway was vacant. "Shit!"

* * *

 **Wow, what a strangely comprehensible chapter. It's almost like the author wrote this chapter months ago, then had a bitch of a time filling in parts leading up to it.**


	17. I Can't Give Everything Away

The halls of Hogwarts were aglow with spells shooting through the air. Loud explosions echoing off the stone walls attested to the fact that the battle was being fought on all floors. The majority of the students had taken shelter in the dungeons, but the professors and the veterans of Dumbledore's Army fought. No quarter was given, as they expected none to be given in return. Professor Babbage had made the mistake of attempting to surrender to Fenrir Greyback. She was currently lying in the sixth-floor corridor with the exception of her legs, which were draped on a suit of armor two floors below.

Ron and Hermione bobbed and weaved through the spellfire, stone chips in their hair. Ron had sustained a nasty gash on his arm, which now hung limply at his side. They had fought their way down from the Room of Requirement, sounding the alarm where they could.

"Ron! Hermione!" A head popped up from behind a turned over oak table. "Over here!"

"Luna!" Hermione dove over the table, landing next to the soot-smudged Ravenclaw. Ron joined them, less gracefully.

"Boot and Perks are dead," Luna said. "MacNair got them with a blasting curse outside Flitwick's classroom.

"Where's Harry?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know. The entire school is in chaos. All the Nargles are dead! I don't have the energy to be a space-case anymore!"

"Well, every rose has its thorn," Ron muttered. Hermione turned and drew her wand, and for a second Ron's eyes went wide in fear. "It was a joke, Hermione."

" _Protego._ " Hermione's spell reflected a curse inches away from Ron's head. Ron turned and stunned the Death Eater who had snuck up on them.

"I owe you," Ron said, visibly shaken.

Hermione was about to reply when she caught the rustle of a black robe in the corner of her eye. "Professor Snape!" she shouted. The Potions professor ignored her and ran on. A second later, Harry appeared, sliding around the corner. "Harry!"

"Can't talk, I have to kill Snape!" he shouted, jogging past the three students.

A few seconds later, Vassago appeared, huffing from exertion. "Oh god," he muttered, bending over and gasping. "I need to quit smoking."

"Vassago, where's the Headmaster?" Ron asked.

"Dead."

"No!"

"Sorry, can't stay to mourn, I've got to stop Harry before he ruins everything!"

"What about the Death Eaters?"

"Die, demon!"

With a snap of his fingers, the demon set the charging witch alight. The Death Eater (Eatress?) flailed around screaming, then smashed through a window and plummeted to her death. "I wouldn't worry about them," Vassago said. "I'd be more worried about Voldemort."

"He's here?"

 **Spoilers.**

"Shut up, Luna."

* * *

Snape burst through the front door and out into the Hogwarts courtyard, an irate Gryffindor in hot pursuit. " _Crucio!_ " Snape stopped dead in his tracks and fell over, biting his tongue to stop himself from crying out.

Harry broke the curse and stepped forwards. "He trusted you," Harry shouted.

Snape rolled onto his back and sneered up at Harry, blood running down the corner of his mouth. "Are Potter's feelings hurt?" he asked. Harry responded with a heel to the face. Snape grunted as his nose snapped.

"I should kill you!" Harry growled, getting onto his knees.

Snape laughed. "Kill me? After all the help I've given you this year in Potions?"

"What?"

Snape grinned. "That's right, Potter. I am the Half-Blood Prince."

Harry's anger faded momentarily, replaced with confusion. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, I guess we cut that part."

"Stop breaking the fourth wall!" Harry jammed the tip of his wand against Snape's temple. "You betrayed Dumbledore. You betrayed me!"

Snape leaned his head back and laughed. "Seems like everyone betrays you nowadays."

"Harry!" Vassago's hand gripped Harry's arm, wrenching the wand away from the Potion Master. "Let him go."

"No!" Harry pushed the demon off of him. "I'm going to kill him. Then we'll bring Dumbledore back to life so he can fix this."

"Dumbledore is dead, Harry."

"No! We can save him! Like you saved Sirius!"

This time it was Snape's turn to be confused. "Potter, Black died last year in the Ministry of Magic."

"No, he isn't!"

"Yes, he is."

"Vassago brought him back! Tell him, Vassago!" Harry turned to the demon and froze, mouth open.

Sirius Black stood above Harry, a forlorn expression on his face. "I'm sorry, Harry," he said. "But Severus is right."

As Harry watched, Sirius's features shifted, until the demon stood where his Godfather had been moments before. "No," he said, voice breaking. "No."

"Harry, please."

"No!" the Gryffindor threw himself at the demon. Vassago grabbed Harry's arms, fighting back the boy's half-hearted blows. "You brought him back!"

"I can't bring the dead back," Vassago said. "Too much paperwork."

Harry's eyes widened. "The Pensieve. Dumbledore knew."

"We both thought it best to keep it a secret."

"Goddamn you!" Harry screamed. A burst of magic flared out, throwing the demon ten feet through the air. He struck the castle doors hard enough to splinter the thousand-year-old wood. "You all lied to me!"

Vassago pulled himself to his feet and brushed himself down. "Harry, I'm sorry. We needed you to focus on the task at hand."

"You just needed to keep me alive long enough for my big damn hero moment."

"Harry, please."

"No! I won't be a pawn in Dumbledore's chess match! I won't die!"

"Yes, you will, Potter." The voice echoed across the courtyard, freezing all who heard it in their tracks. Voldemort flew in from above like a spectral sugar-glider, landing beside Snape.

"Harry!" Ron and Hermione appeared in the castle doorway, wands out. Behind them Luna, McGonagall, and the rest of Hogwarts stood, ready to fight.

"Stay back!" Harry shouted, signaling them to stop. "No one else has to die. Not today."

"If not today, when?" Voldemort stepped forwards, wand pointed nonchalantly at the Boy-Who-Lived. "This has been foretold, Potter. Destiny awaits."

"Fuck destiny!" Harry spat. He wordlessly fired a killing curse across the courtyard. Voldemort side-stepped it and laughed before returning fire.

Time seemed to slow. The green jet of light shot through the air, its glow illuminating Harry's face. He realized he could not dodge the jet in time. Shutting his eyes, he waited for the inevitable.

It didn't come. With a scream, Vassago threw himself between Voldemort and Harry. The curse struck him in the chest. The demon fell to the ground, tumbling across the cobblestones like a ragdoll.

"Vassago!" Hermione screamed.

"...Ow." The demon pushed himself to his knees, groaning. "That fucking hurt."

Voldemort rolled his eyes. "A futile gesture, demon." He turned his attention back to Harry. "Merely prolonging the inevitable. _Avada Kedavra_!"

Again, Vassago dashed in front of the curse. This time, he stayed on his feet, swaying slightly. "No," he said, coughing up black ichor.

"Get out of the way!" Voldemort screamed as he cast the curse again.

Vassago absorbed it, flinching, then took a halting step forward. Again and again, the Dark Lord fired. Vassago took every shot, advancing each time until the two monsters stood face-to-face "Why won't you let him die?" Voldemort snarled.

"It's not my decision to make," the demon replied hoarsely.

"I will kill every last witch and wizard in this castle."

"But not before you kill me, which is impossible," Vassago smiled, his teeth stained black.

Voldemort rolled his eyes. "I've had enough of this. Fenrir!"

"What?" Vassago turned, then glanced up into the feral grin of Voldemort's pet werewolf. "Oh, fuck."

"Rip his head off."

The werewolf obliged, twisting the demon's head off like a bottle cap. Fenrir turned to Harry and held up his trophy. Vassago's eyes rolled back in his head, then blinked.

"Okay, I thought the killing curse hurt, but that was much, much worse."

"Well, this has been an entertaining sideshow," Voldemort said cheerily. "Now, where were we?"

Harry got into a dueling stance. "I was about to die?" he asked.

"Ah, yes. _Avada-_ "

"No," Hermione stepped in front of Harry, arms stretched out to shield her friend. "If you want to kill Harry, you'll have to kill me first."

"Hermione, no!" Harry lowered his wand.

Voldemort shrugged. "That's a pretty weak ultimatum, mudblood."

"And me." Ron joined Hermione. He grabbed his girlfriend's hand and squeezed it tight.

"And me," MacGonagall said, joining them.

"And me." Neville Longbottom stepped forwards.

"And me," Ginny Weasley said.

"And me," Filch joined in.

 **I am Spartacus,** Luna added.

Before Harry could put a word in edgewise, what seemed like the entire school stood between him and Voldemort.

The Dark Lord looked like a kid at a candy store. "Wow, I get to kill Potter and half of the Order of the Phoenix in one night? Happy birthday to me."

"It's your birthday?" Vassago asked.

"No!" Harry pushed his way through the human shield. "No! This is not what I want!"

"Listen to your Chosen One," Voldemort called out. "Not all of you need die tonight; just one."

"Promise me this, Tom," Harry began, looking over his shoulder. "If I come with you, no one else dies, at least not tonight. Tomorrow, you may resume the fighting, but tonight, take me and no one else."

"You are in no position to bargain," Voldemort replied haughtily.

"Aren't I?" Harry asked. "If you kill me without accepting my agreement, you'll have to fight your way through the entire school, which, while within your powers, will be exhausting. Wouldn't you rather save the trouble, get home early, and start the party?"

Voldemort thought the matter over for a second. "Oh, fuck it. Fine."

"Harry, please, you don't have to do this!" Hermione said, running to her friend's side.

"I'm sick of the people I love dying for me," Harry whispered. "This will give you all a fighting chance."

Voldemort rolled his eyes. "Enough with the sentimentality. Accio Potter!" Harry was pulled across the courtyard and into Fenrir Greyback's arms as if tugged by an invisible string. He turned back to Hogwarts and smiled. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll be fine."

"Come, Potter. The pale horseman awaits."

Ginny screamed and tried to run forwards, but was restrained by her brother. There wasn't a dry eye among the crowd that watched Harry follow the Death Eaters through the castle gates and into the night.

* * *

Voldemort found a clearing in the Forbidden Forest that was suitable enough for the task. "You're facing death honorably, Potter," he said, turning to the boy. "I respect that."

"Shut up and kill me, Tom."

"Very well, _Avada-_ "


	18. Lazarus

They found his body the next day, sprawled on the grass before the gate. His expression was peaceful, as though he'd merely fallen asleep.

Terry Boot and Sally-Anne Perks were sent home on the Hogwarts Express, to be buried by their families. Will Fagan's corpse was chucked into the lake, where he was devoured by the squid. Dumbledore was put on ice: his will stipulated an ostentatious sarcophagus by the lakeside, but no one could be bothered to at that moment.

Hermione and Ron dug Harry's grave themselves. It was on a hill overlooking the Quidditch pitch. They knew that Harry would be embarrassed by a state funeral, so few words were spoken. Many tears were shed.

After the mourners filed away, a figure apparated beside the grave. The cloaked stranger bent down and placed a small wooden box beside the makeshift headstone and left unseen.

* * *

Two days passed. Hogwarts was evacuated, the students sent home early. On the second day, a summer storm, accompanied by the appropriate combination of thunder and lightning. Had anyone been watching the lonely gravesite, they'd have witnessed a single bolt of lightning strike the mound. If they'd stuck around for a few minutes after that, they'd have heard the curious sound of digging emanating from the ground. If they'd toughened it out in the rain for a further ten minutes, they'd have been startled by the sight of a hand clawing its way out of the mud.

Harry wiped the dirt from his face and stared up at the sky, letting the rain wash him clean. He didn't have the energy to comprehend what had happened.

A loud crack sounded behind him. Turning, he saw a hooded figure approach through the rain. Hurriedly, he searched his holster for his wand but found it was gone, although upon further search he discovered Dumbledore's wand, tucked into his back pocket.

The figure stopped ten feet from the boy. "Harry Potter. You look like death warmed over."

"Who are you?" Harry asked.

The stranger removed his hood and fixed his twinkling blue eyes on the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice. Harry's eyes widened. "Dumbledore?"

"No," Aberforth said, smiling thinly. "The other Dumbledore."


End file.
